


Angels & Peaches

by RubieTulips



Series: Tread softly, Angels [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Darcy Lewis, F/M, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Or Is It?, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, SSR Agent Darcy Lewis, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Travel is Not Jane's Fault This Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubieTulips/pseuds/RubieTulips
Summary: Steve Rogers discovers his Soulmate in 1939 when she saves his bacon in an alley fight then disappears without a trace before he can even learn her name. What follows is a series of one-sided meetings where Steve's Soulmate continues to watch over him and his best pal like a Guardian Angel. Steve sure appreciates the help but he'd much rather his Soulmate stand still for a moment and let him speak his Words to her.Bucky has never wanted to hear the damning words his Soulmate is destined to speak, the ones that stain his skin with his evil. He'd much rather live in denial and pine for his best friend.Darcy, stuck 70 years before her time, just wants to keep them both alive long enough for history to do its thing. Soulmates are literally the LAST thing she'd expect to find in the back alleys of Brooklyn.Fate, of course, has other plans.





	1. Peaches in an alleyway

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Friends
> 
> Just another cheeky soulmate/time travel fic featuring our favourite intern/agent. I really hope you enjoy.
> 
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

It was in the early winter of 1939 the first time he saw her.

He was on his way back home from Mr Schofield’s corner store carrying a precious bag of groceries he and Bucky could barely afford when out of nowhere the groceries were torn from his arms and he was shoved backwards deep into an alleyway. The cans of soup and fruit he’d spent the last of Bucky’s pay-check on clanged as they hit the filthy bricks.

“Hey!” he yelled, indignation heating his face. “What’s the big idea?”

The meat-head who shoved him sneered down his nose and pushed him square in the chest, hard enough to make him fall flat on his arse in the freezing sludge. Three more meat-heads flanked the first.

“Shut it, you whiny little shit. You’ve messed with the wrong crowd and now it’s time to pay.”

Steve’s mind cast back to his recent encounters and combed his memories for a clue as to which of Brooklyn’s nearby gangs he had inadvertently angered but nothing jumped out. If Bucky were here, he’d probably say it was an easier job to decide which bunch of local low-lives he _hadn’t_ provoked.

A hard kick to the guts forced the air from his lungs and he instinctively curled in around himself. A kidney shot made him regret it. The four men surrounded his prone form and worked him over in silence, his gasps and moans as feet and fists met his flesh the only noises echoing off the brickwork.

“You know I’ve always preferred apricots but I guess I can make do with peaches in a pinch,”

As a unit, the men froze. Steve’s vision blurred at the edges and he wasn’t sure it was entirely because of the most recent blow to his temple. The voice at the top of the alleyway was feminine and cultured and calm in a way that brought up images of up-scale market stores and wealthy housewives being forced to politely sacrifice their perfect dinner party plans for their businessmen husbands.

“This ain’t no business of yours, lady,” growled the thug who had first cornered Steve. “So take that pretty little face of yours and shove off.”

“On the contrary,” the voice replied, smooth as butter. “I believe this is _entirely_ my business.”

There was a loud thump, quickly followed by another one, and the goon fell to the ground face first into the mud. He didn’t get up. Two cans of peaches rolled into the gutter.

“Oh you’re going to fucking regret that, you little bitch,” sneered another fighter.

“Unlikely,” the dame quipped back.

The three remaining men turned their back on Steve and faced the alleyway entrance. Steve would have been offended at being dismissed as a threat so thoroughly but he was busy concentrating on keeping his heart going. From his spot on the ground he could just barely make out parts of the woman’s blue and white dress. He thought the flowers printed on it were real pretty.

The stranger had dropped another one of the thugs by the time enough blood finally returned to Steve’s brain to realise that there was a _lady fighting off thugs in the alley while he was sitting on his arse doing nothing about it._

“Hey!” he called out, using the wall to push himself up. “Leave her alone!”

“Now is not the time, Steve! _Stay down for once!_ ”

 Before he could scramble a confused reply as to why this apparently well-to-do woman was a) alone in an alley in Brooklyn, b) knew his name or c) knew that getting beat up was somewhat of a pastime of his, one of the remaining thugs threw a fist at his face. He stumbled back in time to see a dark-haired woman land a hard jab to her opponent’s throat and knee him in the balls before his vision slowly faded entirely to black.

When Steve woke up, he was propped up against the alley brickwork with a neat pile of canned goods stacked next to him and a lace-edged handkerchief wrapped around his hand. Four unconscious thugs were sprawled out nearby.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what have you got yourself into this time?” came a familiar voice.

Bucky stepped gingerly between the bodies of Steve’s attackers and knelt down to look in his face. Gentle fingers on his chin tilted his head this way and that, taking in the damage he’d been dealt.

“You look like shit, Rogers,” Bucky declared. He waved an arm to indicate the four bodies behind him. “You do all this?”

Steve shook his head, wincing at the pain it caused. He looked down at the handkerchief in wonder.

“No. It was my soulmate.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

_Dear Steve and Bucky_

_Saw these on display and couldn’t help myself. Hope you like them._

_Your friendly neighbourhood peach fan (I’ve officially converted from apricots)_

_P.S. I’ve added in another gift for you, Steve, because a birdie tells me you managed to avoid fighting for an entire week. Well done!_

 

 

Steve watched Bucky run a reverent hand over the bundle of dark brown leather that had been labelled with his name. It, along with the short note and a similar bundle marked _Steven G Rogers_ in a pleasant, looping script, had been waiting for them on their kitchen table when they returned home from church. God only knows how she had been able to sneak inside their apartment. Steve was sure he’d locked the door before they left.

“This is fucking gorgeous leather,” Bucky praised. He lifted the jacket up by the shoulders. “You sure she’s your soulmate, pal? Reckon you might’a accidentally made a deal with the devil to be getting gifts like this.”

“Buck, I’m sure,” replied Steve, inspecting his own jacket. It was a lighter brown than Bucky’s and smaller of course, but otherwise similar. The lining was soft and smooth and would be amazingly warm, he just knew it. “It’s not like my Words are common, you know? Not _hello_ or _nice to meet you_. Besides, you’ve seen them, they’ve gone black.”

Bucky hummed in agreement and let it drop. A person’s Words were sacred and private, rarely ever shown even to medical personnel, but after the incident with the peaches in the alley Steve was so desperate to have someone believe him about his mysterious benefactress that once they’d got back to the apartment he pulled his shirt off and all but demanded Bucky inspect the secret writing on his shoulder blade. Steve hadn’t seen Bucky’s in return but that didn’t bother him any, he didn’t expect it. They were still best pals.

“What’s your other one?” Bucky asked, now wearing the new leather jacket. It fit his broad shoulders and trim waist perfectly. Steve grinned. Bucky’d always been handsome but in that jacket he looked right stellar. He’d have to fight the gals off with a stick once they saw him.

“Stop gawking, you mook, and open your other present,”

Still grinning, Steve unwrapped the brown paper to expose a thin wooden box. Before he’d even finished removing the paper he could guess what it contained just based on the smell.

“Paints,” Steve breathed out. He didn’t bother trying to hide his happiness. He and Bucky had been trying for months to scrounge up enough spare for some decent oil paints so Steve could get back in to his advertising work but something had always come up. Now he had the chance to earn some good money for them and he didn’t even have to risk leaving the apartment to find work when the weather turned foul.  “How’d she know? Do you reckon she’s spyin on us?”

“Dunno, pal. Maybe I was wrong about the devil part but maybe she’s still some kind of magic. Like one of your Ma’s Fae folk or a guardian angel or something. Not that I care much what she is if she can keep you from getting yourself in messes all over the place.”

Steve snorted. “Pretty sure guardian angels don’t knee fellas in the plums,”

Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Pretty sure an angel’d be wasted on you anyway, Rogers.”


	2. Remedies for a broken heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear friends
> 
> What a response to the first chapter! Thank you so SO much for giving this little fic a chance. Your comments and kudos gave me such a boost I had to get back to my keyboard right away. I can't wait to hear what you think.
> 
> Air kisses for everyone,  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

Steve was the happiest Bucky had ever seen him. Shit, the kid was practically _glowing_. Ever since he’d met his soulmate he couldn’t keep the smile off his big dumb face and whenever there was a quiet moment Bucky’d spot him staring off into space, dreaming and sighing about her. Even when Bucky’d try riling him up some like he always did, Stevie’d just shrug his narrow shoulders and smirk. Fuck it was annoying. About as annoying as the itchy feeling in Bucky’s throat whenever he caught Steve drifting off in his thoughts again.

Not that Bucky was jealous. Not really. He always knew this day would come, the day when Steve’s soulmate would replace him as the most important person in his life. However, knowing it would come and actually living it were two different things and as the weeks passed with no further sign of Steve’s missing soulmate his feelings grew increasingly complicated. The itch low on his left hip, the one he’d steadfastly refused to look at since he was old enough to read, the one he kept covered even in his most intimate encounters, kept him awake with its taunts.

Steve’s soulmate didn’t come back and Steve’s smile began to slip. And sometimes when he’d drift away with his thoughts, Steve would frown rather than happily sigh. Bucky tried to reassure his best friend, telling him that the Universe wouldn’t have put the two of them together without planning it, that he just had to be patient some, but the words tasted like ash in his mouth. He fluctuated between not wanting Steve’s soulmate to ever come back at all to being furious she wasn’t already there and making him smile that dope smile again.

Towards the end of winter, Steve went down with a nasty case of influenza. It was bad – real bad – and Bucky didn’t hesitate to dip into the little tin of emergency money they’d saved with the sale of Steve’s most recent artworks to buy medicine and some decent food to strengthen Steve’s gaunt body against the illness. Steve was a shivering, sweaty mess in his bed for the most part, glassy-eyed and out of it and moaning for Bucky, for his Ma, for his soulmate, his fae princess, his angel. Bucky grit his teeth and endured it, whispering torturous lies to his best pal that the soulmate Steve loved so hard was coming soon, that she loved him, that she missed him, that she wouldn’t leave him again. Bucky hated himself more with every lie that left his lips but sometimes those lies were the only thing to calm Steve down enough to rest and surely that was worth the painful clenching of his heart, wasn’t it?

Two weeks in and Steve was still sick and their tin of savings was as empty as the cupboards. Bucky paced up and down their tiny living room and swore a blue streak, angry at the doctors who charged so much for their medicines, angry at the illnesses that wouldn’t leave his best pal alone, angry at the world for not caring that the best damned man in Brooklyn was laid up and practically _dying_ and none of them were doing a damn thing to help. Most of all he was angry at Steve’s soulmate, the one person who should have been there with him at Steve’s bedside, wiping his brow and spooning him soup and changing his sheets and just fucking _giving a damn_. A traitorous voice at the back of his mind reminded him that it was the Soulmate’s generosity in buying Stevie’s paints that let them gather their little tin of money he’d used this past fortnight in the first place and it made him even angrier.

Bucky had no choice. He had to go back to the docks, leave Stevie alone and sick and vulnerable while he earned them some money. He convinced Mrs Netherby from the second floor to come up and check on Stevie a couple times during the day, locked his jaw, straightened his jacket (that _she_ had bought him) and went to work.

Three days and three double-shifts later and Bucky was going out of his mind with stress and worry but at least they had some money for food. He raced up the stairs to their apartment and banged open their door only to be hit by a powerful smell of hot food and the heater oil they always needed but could never afford. In the bedroom, Stevie was sitting up against the headboard with a blanket around his shoulders and a bowl of soup in his lap. He smiled when he saw Bucky.

“Jeez, pal, I thought I was the one who looked like shit,” the little bastard said, as though he hadn’t just spent the last two weeks hovering at death’s door and making Bucky age a decade prematurely. He spooned another mouthful of soup, chicken noodle by the look. Noticing Bucky’s gaze, he lifted his chin and motioned towards the kitchen. “Mrs Netherby said there’s more in the kitchen if you want. I guess she brought it from home.”

Bucky mumbled something in response and sought out the food in the kitchen, suspicion heavy in his gut. On the counter was a box of food, mostly vegetables and tinned goods, and on the stove was a huge pot of the soup. Just like last time, there was a note.

 

_Dear Bucky_

_Sorry, got tied up. Hope this helps._

_There’s medicine in the ice box and something under the tins that should keep Steve in bed longer._

_All the best_

 

Bucky saw red. His fist slammed down on the countertop. She’d been ‘tied up’. _Tied up!_ She didn’t even say with what. He had busted his ass for two weeks keeping _her_ soulmate alive and all she does is send a note that’s not even fucking addressed to _Steve?!_ He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, calming down the way his boxing coach taught him to do before a big fight. He could deal with his shit storm of emotions later, or not if he decided it was too hard, but right now Steve needed him. He had to quiet down. And no matter where they had come from, the medicine and supplies _would_ help Steve kick this ‘flu. Bucky snatched the medicine from the ice box and the wrapped parcel from under the tins and stalked back to Steve, noticing on his way through the living room that the oil heater’s reservoir had been completely refilled. It would last them a month, easy, more than enough to keep their tiny apartment warm while Steve recovered. He didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

“Here, punk, medicine. Take it.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at his tone, but took the bottle of medicine Bucky was holding out. “Something the matter, Buck?”

“No,” he lied, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Just tired.” He remembered the wrapped parcel in his other hand. “Here.”

After swallowing his medicine and making that same adorable fucking grimace he made every time he had to swallow that shit, Steve gave him a stern look.

“You shouldn’t be buying presents, Buck. The food, the medicine. And don’t think I can’t tell that you got that damned heater running again somehow.”

It was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to tell Steve the truth about the matter, how his soulmate was finally back and had provided for them in their hour of need, but his throat closed over with the sudden urge to rant and rail about the fact the girl had disappeared in the first place, that she obviously didn’t value Steve the way he ought to be valued, that one box of groceries didn’t make up for the weeks of absence that left her soulmate, _his_ best friend!, distraught and confused. That _she_ couldn’t love Steve the way… the way…

So he didn’t say nothing. And when Steve opened up the parcel to find a brand new sketchbook and a set of fine colour pencils, Bucky looked away so Steve wouldn’t see the mix of guilt and jealousy and anger that was written all over his face because _she_ had the money to buy Steve what _he_ wanted to buy him, _she_ , who could be here but chose not to be, _she_ who knew about Steve’s fighting and sicknesses yet still kept her distance, _she_ who was Steve’s true soulmate.

And later that night after Steve went to sleep, warm and recovering and well fed, if Bucky crept into his best friend’s bed and held him tight in a way that had nothing to do with sharing heat in winter, well. Bucky wouldn’t be admitting that either.

 

 

 


	3. Silver and Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings
> 
> Firing off another chapter tonight because I can. I'll have to slow down my updates in the next week or so but this one is ready to go.  
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos and general enthusiasm. You keep this writer's heart pumping along!
> 
> Kisses  
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Buck,”

Steve shoved harder at the best-friend shaped lump in the bed.

“Get lost, punk, a man needs his rest,” came a growled response from deep within the blankets.

“Buck. Can I… Can I come with you tonight? You and Hetty? You said… you said she had a friend,”

Bucky shot up, hair sticking up everywhere and his eyes wild. A slow grin spread across his face.

“You mean it? You really wanna come?”

Steve swallowed down a jolt of anxiety and set his jaw. For weeks now Bucky had been after him to forget about his missing soulmate for a while and go on a double date with him. Now, months after he’d watched a tin of peaches roll down an alleyway gutter, Steve braced his shoulders and told himself to be brave.

“Yeah. It’s like you said. No point forcing fate, right? And if… if she really doesn’t want me, than I ain’t gonna live my whole life waiting around the sides,”

The speech was one he’d rehearsed in his head countless times but it still felt wrong in his mouth. He didn’t want to go on a date with another girl, he didn’t want to smile and sweet talk anyone but _her_. The fact of the matter though was that it had been four months. Four months of waiting and hoping and crying and watching Bucky’s face cycle through sadness and pity and frustration and… something else he didn’t quite get. Maybe he _would_ feel better if he went out with Bucky and some girls. At the very least he’d be out with his best pal instead of sitting home by himself again, sketching out yet another picture of the flowers he’d seen on her dress.

“Well then!” Bucky said, climbing out of bed. “I’d better go tell Hetty we’re making it a double,”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

For their date, Bucky and Steve took Hetty and her friend Sally-Anne to a benefit concert at Prospect Park. The Spring weather gifted them with a beautiful warm evening, lights had been strung all around the music pavilion and many young couples took advantage of the romantic atmosphere to sneak a cuddle in the shadows of the trees. The first of the benefit bands was playing hot and fast, just the way Bucky liked it, and in between the flush of shoulders and arms and colourful, patterned dresses Steve caught snatches of Bucky’s grinning mug as he swung a laughing Hetty around the dance floor. Steve’s own date, Sally-Anne, had proven to be a sweet, quiet girl who shared an apartment with Hetty. She was pretty in a soft way but so exceedingly shy that she almost made Steve look out-going by comparison. It didn’t bother him in the slightest.

At their table the two of them sat quietly, sipped their drinks, listened to the music and watched the couples on the dance floor. At one point Steve did his duty as a good date and asked Sally-Anne if she cared to dance with him but her doe-brown eyes widened near out of her face and she shook her head as though Steve had just asked her to join him to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. He was just considering whether or not it was the _him_ part of his suggestion that had upset Sally-Anne when she mumbled something in his direction. He leaned in and asked her to repeat herself.

“I’m not a very good dancer. I’m… still learning. And this music is very fast.”

Steve grinned. Finally he and Bucky had found a girl who could very well be as bad on dates as he was. Just the idea made him relax more.

“That’s just fine, Miss Sally-Anne. I’m not great at dancing either. But I sure do like listening to the music, don’t you?”

Sally-Anne released her breath and her lips twisted up a little into something Steve interpreted as a smile. It felt good. Maybe this had been a good idea.

Bucky and Hetty returned and Bucky spun Hetty and dropped her into her seat with a flourish that earned him a blush and a giggle. Both Bucky and Hetty were bright and happy and Steve realised that for once he wasn’t hoping this date would end early. On the music stage a trumpeter finished his solo and the band manager announced the next set. Musicians filed onto the stage and stood at attention while a woman in a sparkling silver dress sauntered up to centre stage. Even from this distance Steve recognised the curls of her long, dark hair and the set of her red, red lips. His heart punched out of his rib-cage and his jaw dropped open like a mouth-breathing fool as the woman curled her scarlet-tipped fingers around the microphone. The piano and violins started to play, slow and gentle, and his soulmate began to sing.

_You may not love me but you may_

_So I don’t dare to keep away_

_Supposing you get lonely overnight?_

_You might not need me but you might_

 

Her voice was low and full of heartfelt yearning that resonated deep within him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shake the iron grip of his focus from her long enough to draw in air. Was she singing to _him_? Was she singing _about_ him? Beneath the table Bucky kicked his foot, drawing his attention back to the people he was sitting with.

“You alright there, pal?” Bucky said, warning clear in his voice. He must have missed something. He realised Bucky had made to stand and Steve hurriedly joined him on his feet as their dates rose to go utilise the facilities and powder their noses. Once the girls left and he and Bucky sat down again he gripped his friend’s arm.

“Bucky, it’s her! On the stage, it’s _her_!”

Bucky twisted around to look. He didn’t need to ask Steve what he meant by ‘ _her’_.  “The singer? Are you sure?”

Ordinarily Steve would have scowled and bit out a caustic reply but his head was too full, his lungs too empty. “I swear it, Buck, that’s her.”

“Well. She sure is something, I’ll give you that…” Bucky said without turning back around. His voice was doing something strange. “What are you gonna do about it?”

_Perhaps I have no chance with you_

_But then again, perhaps I do_

_I only hope tomorrow won’t be just another day_

_You may not love me but you may_

 

 

“I gotta go talk to her, I just gotta. You’ll cover for me with Sally-Anne, won’t you?”

“Sure thing, pal,” replied Bucky. “Course I will,”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

Steve hovered near the tented section of the park behind the stage that had been reserved for the performing musicians. He wasn’t alone in his notion of attempting to gain the attention of the entertainers – a small throng of guys and gals hugged the temporary rope fencing outside the tent, trying to catch a glimpse of their chosen musician. The entrance to the cordoned off area was guarded by four enormous men in too-tight black suits who Steve thought he might have seen hanging around Creedy’s place near the docks. They weren’t letting a single person through the barricade.

“But the sax player is my brother!” cried a girl, wringing her handkerchief in her hands.

“Then you can see him home at breakfast time, can’t you?” came the flat reply.

The sax player’s possible sister called out an impolite phrase and slunk back through the crowd, only to be joined in her exit by the next hopeful fan, and the next. Steve began to sweat. Even the more plausible attempts at gaining entrance to the reserved area were met with a stone wall. How was he meant to get through? Why on earth would they believe that _he_ , sickly, scrawny, poor-as-dirt Steven Grant Rogers was the soulmate of the most beautiful singer to ever grace a stage in Brooklyn? He needed a new plan.

Steve abandoned his place in the group and skirted the side of the musician’s tent until he reached the back edge furthest from the stage. Boxes and crates were piled up all over in between the taut rope supports, some open and full of straw and equipment, others closed and labelled with various names and companies. It was a crowded mess and Steve was hopeful of finding a hidden section of canvas he could discreetly tug aside far enough for him to squeeze through. Sometimes being little had its advantages after all.

The well-known sounds of a physical scuffle sent Steve ducking behind a pile of crates to hide. He _knew_ what he was hearing, the dull thumps of flesh meeting flesh in a fist fight, but it was the most silent beating he’d ever heard. There were no curses or grunts or sly digs at each opponent’s manly prowess, not even when hits landed. He crept forward on his hands and knees and peeked out around his covering crate only to have the breath knocked from his lungs for the second time that night.

His girl, _his soulmate_ , still clad in her sparkling stage dress, had a man pinned face down in the dirt. She was kneeling on his back, one arm twisted behind him so tight that Steve knew his shoulder would be dislocating but the fighter was still silent even through the doubtless pain. Steve’s soulmate’s expression wasn’t cruel, exactly, but it was hard. Cold. She had to know the agony she was inflicting but she didn’t relent.

Steve must have gasped or made some sound because his soulmate’s head snapped up in his direction and her eyes met his. They were blue, a beautiful deep winter-lake blue that Steve decided was his new favourite colour and they were… rolling?

“Jesus Christ, Steve, are you actually _incapable_ of avoiding trouble?”

Just as he was about to reply, his soulmate gasped and jumped off her opponent only to quickly turn and roll him over. The unknown man was having some kind of attack or fit or something because his heels kicked into the dirt and foam spilled from his grey lips.

“ _Shit._ Cyanide capsule. Should have guessed,” his soulmate muttered, checking her opponent’s pulse at his throat with clinical precision even though her body language told him she didn’t expect to find any heartbeat. Had she… had she just killed a man?

Steve got to his feet and stumbled towards her. He knew his face would be projecting all kinds of shock and his trousers were scuffed and his jacket twisted but he didn’t care. All he felt was an aching _need_ to go to her, to hold her, tell her-

“Stop.”

He stopped. Blinked. Frowned.

“I know you want to help, Steve, I get it, I do. But right now there are six other guys just like this one and shit is about to go down. Go back to your table, find Bucky and your dates and _get out now_.”

He blinked again. Why was his brain not working? It sounded like his soulmate was telling him to leave her in danger and just… go away? He opened his mouth to argue, one hand already reaching out, when she interrupted. Clearly _her_ mind wasn’t at all sluggish with the shock of witnessing a man’s death.

“Alright, time to pull out the guilt guns then. Trouble. Danger. As in, innocents in. You need to get your girls to safety _or they_ _will be hurt_. Now go.”

Frowning, Steve tried to come up with an argument to respond with but his mind was racing too fast to think straight. Hettie and Sally-Anne were in danger?  Just what in the world was happening? This was a benefit concert! With…  fist fights and cyanide and dead men and women in danger and… _what?_ He realised his soulmate was speaking to him still, something about orders and soldiers, but he was struck dumb with the impossible again and he watched, frozen in place like an arctic iceberg as she started to pull up one side of her silver hemline. Inch by inch it rose to expose perfectly shaped, pale calves and knees clad in the silkiest, finest stockings that any girl in Brooklyn would go mad over. His poor heart thumped out a frantic foxtrot and he knew that he should most definitely _not_ be watching this, that no decent man should stand and stare at a woman’s uncovered legs behind a tent in a public park but he was already damned and his eyes refused to turn away and that sinful silver fabric slid ever further up until dear God, Steve could see her thighs, could see the lace of his soulmate’s garters. _Black_ lace. Oh yes, he was certainly going to hell. Black lace against creamy white thighs and red fingernails and… gold metal?

A gold and pearl handled double barrel derringer, to be exact.

“What?” Steve’s soulmate smirked. She retrieved her gun from its holster and let her dress drop again. “You wouldn’t expect a girl to run around defenceless, would you?”

Steve blinked.

And then she was gone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Darcy sings is called "You may not love me" and is sung by a few different people but in 1943 Jo Stafford released a version. I've shunted the time around a little bit and am pretending Jo released it in 1940 instead because reasons.
> 
> Jo Stafford's version:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EyZ6vNQ8aWo


	4. Safe again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, a bit of a summary up until now:
> 
> Steve is in love with his Soulmate but thinks she rejected him after saving him in the alley.  
> Bucky is in love with Steve and conflicted about Steve's soulmate but is desperate to hide both.  
> Darcy, like most people from the 21st Century, suspects Bucky & Steve have a Thing. She also has no idea that Steve is her soulmate. Her self-appointed mission is literally just to keep Steve & Bucky alive long enough to do what they need to do to win WW2.
> 
> This chapter includes action, drama and feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, darlings!
> 
> Thank you for your continued interest in my baby. Not even if I used all 5000 allowed words in this note would I be able to describe how amazing it is to feel your love and I want to give special thanks to each and every one of you who have commented or kudos'd. You are my darlings, my beautiful people, the audience to the crazy that is my brain. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> Please enjoy this next chapter  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

 

When he could think clear enough to move his legs, Steve hurried back to the tables as fast as he could go without drawing attention to himself, fixing his jacket and tie as he went. The girls and Bucky were waiting for him, Hetty laughing and Sally-Anne trying her hardest to smile and Bucky looking proud as punch at the attention and not at all troubled that Steve had abandoned him with two nice dames. Steve skidded in and dropped down on his seat and tried to calm his frantic breathing before he had an asthma attack. Bucky and their dates stopped talking and stared at him as though he were a stranger, some wild beast that had wandered out of the zoo. Steve’s eyes darted around, taking in the music and laughter and revelry of a very ordinary night in Brooklyn and part of him wondered if he hadn’t just imagined the last half hour of his life. Evil men, threats, poison and his soulmate and her, uh… gun… Sitting again with his friends Steve could almost pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

“Steve?”

Bucky was looking him over with a wary eye, suspicion tightening the corners of his mouth and Steve remembered his soulmate’s warning. It hadn’t been a dream, it had been very real, a man was dead and more would be hurt. They had to go.

“Bucky, we have to go.”

“What? It’s not even nine, Steve. What’s happened? What- ,”

Steve stood up and gently pulled a confused Sally-Anne up with him. He looked Bucky straight in the eye, relying on their decades long best-friend connection to convey the seriousness of the situation. “We need to leave. Now.”

With a firm nod to signal his receipt of the message, Bucky joined him on his feet and took Hetty’s arm. He let Steve lead the girls away from the tables, through the bulk of the crowd and towards the exit. They were about three quarters of the way there when the sound of automatic gun fire silenced the clarinet and saxophones. Steve dropped to the ground, dragging Sally-Anne down with him and covered her with his torso as best he could as the gun fire was joined by frantic yells and the sound of overturning furniture. To his right he could see Bucky had done the same to cover Hetty and their eyes met as they were still draped over their dates. Screams and shouting and chaos deafened them and Steve knew speech would be impossible to hear even up close so he merely nodded when Bucky signalled for them to run, to flee the park not through the panicked mob at the main exit but further out through the trees. When more gunfire split the air and Hetty grew too rattled to continue on her own, Bucky lifted her into his strong arms, not even breaking stride as he did. Sally-Anne, bless her, proved clear-headed in a crisis and Steve thanked his lucky stars. There was no way he could carry another person when his lungs were about to give up under his own weight.

The four of them had almost made it to the tree line when a black clad figure dropped from the boughs of an enormous Elm, wielding a heavy automatic rifle and spitting out a sentence in a foreign language that Steve couldn’t understand. Time slowed to an icy drip and each second was drawn out to an agonising eternity as Steve watched the assailant carefully raise his gun and settle his sights on the largest and strongest of their group, the biggest threat. Bucky. The clamour of chaos still around them rendered Steve’s warning silent and he watched in impotent terror as Bucky twisted his torso and turned his back to shield the girl still in his arms and waited for the worst to come. He closed his eyes.

A single gunshot pierced through the din, the short crack of a handgun and not the angry burst of an automatic.

The black clad man opened his fingers and the rifle fell to the ground. He stumbled forwards another step, then he too met the dirt. A crimson stain blossomed from beneath his chest.

In a single simultaneous movement, Bucky, Steve and Sally-Anne all spun towards the tree line further down on their left. An angel stood there, clad in sparkling silver and a sultry smile, leaning against another tree trunk like she was posing for a picture. She swapped the gold handgun into her left hand and sent them a cheeky salute with her right before pushing off from the tree and sauntering back towards the stage, directly _into_ the madness Steve and Bucky and the girls were running from.

Their stunned reverie was broken when Hetty spotted the corpse of the black clad man who had aimed at them. She screamed, so loud and shrill it could be heard even over the chaos and Bucky quickly cupped the back of her head and pushed her closer against his body. Bucky’s look spoke volumes - they had to keep going and get the girls to safety, they couldn’t go back. Steve took a deep breath and nodded his agreement, reluctant though it might have been. He reminded himself that his soulmate seemed more than capable and that she had given him his orders. He wasn’t going to shirk them now no matter how much he wanted to, not at the cost of an innocent’s safety. His soulmate had cleared the way forward and now it was up to him and Bucky to get the girls home safe.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

The thin grey light of pre-dawn was just creeping across the front steps of Hetty and Sally-Anne’s little Flatbush apartment building but Steve and Bucky had already been awake for hours, alternating between half-dozing next to each other and listening to the unfamiliar noises of a different building. Hetty had begged them not to leave her and Sally-Anne alone after what had happened at the park and even though it wasn’t really appropriate for the men to stay, they had acquiesced on the proviso Hetty would see a doctor in the morning if she was still troubled. Then the boys set up camp on Hetty’s old sofa and settled in for a long, uncomfortable night while the girls disappeared behind their bedroom doors.

Sally-Anne woke early and as she saw them out of the apartment she thanked them profusely for their assistance the night before, even gifting Steve with a thin wavering of her mouth that was the closest thing to a true smile that Steve had ever seen from her. It made him puff up with pride. Bucky noticed, the jerk, and elbowed him in the ribs but it wasn’t enough to dispel the feeling that he had done something truly good, that he had _helped_. Sally-Anne gave a little huff that might have been a laugh. “Who would have thought a spring dance would end up in a gun fight and being saved by Lily Evergreen?”

“Who?” Bucky asked. He adjusted the collar of his jacket and handed Steve his.

“Lily Evergreen. You know, the singer? In the silver dress? She was the one who… you know…”

“Huh. Yeah. Strange.”

 

Out on the sidewalk, Steve stumbled as he remembered, his head a flicker screen full of gunshots and screams and shadows in trees. God, it had been so close… _Bucky_ had been so close to… to…

His best pal grabbed him in time to stop him face planting into the asphalt. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, rubbing his eyes. “Just… just been a big night,”

Bucky nodded, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He spoke softly, face lowered to watch his feet while they walked.

“You know, you hear stories sometimes about soulmate meetings that go over poorly but I ain’t never heard about a soulmate meeting that started a gun fight at Prospect Park.”

Steve looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes. His friend was teasing, sure, but deeper than that, he was worried.

“What happened, Stevie? You say something stupid?”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again when no answer came and after a few minutes Bucky realised he wasn’t in the mood to talk and let it drop. The rest of the way home they were silent, walking so close to each other that their arms bumped together every few steps. Steve didn’t know if it was deliberate or not, or why Bucky would even want to jostle him every thirty seconds in the first place other than to be just plain annoying but somehow feeling Bucky’s arm touch his settled him in a way he didn’t quite understand, as though the contact between them reassured his still sluggish brain that his best friend was _here_ , that they were alive and safe and together. And right then, that was enough.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Once they were home, Bucky and Steve caught the tail end of the morning news on the wireless that spoke about how a brave New York police officer had single-handedly taken down a gunman in Prospect Park the previous night. The policeman was lauded as a hero, the gunman declared insane but secure behind bars. The public were safe, the gunman acted alone, the policeman was very courageous and everything was fine, nothing to fear.

Even though it couldn’t have happened more than a few hours ago, there were already photos in the newspaper that showed a smiling cop proudly shaking hands with the Mayor, other police officers and government men standing close by in solemn approval. There was no mention of multiple assailants, no mention of a foreign connection, no mention of prior knowledge of an attack, no one declared dead. The gunman acted alone. The brave policeman acted independently.

Lily Evergreen was listed right at the bottom of the article as one of the musicians who had been present for the concert, with no suggestion of anything more.

Steve scrunched the paper up and threw it in the trash without a word. He saw Bucky giving him a strange look but he was exhausted and frustrated and just so damned confused. Promising to talk more later, Steve dragged himself to bed to fall into a desperately sought out oblivion.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

_What happened, Stevie? You say something stupid?_

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

Steve bolted upright in bed.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ , his lungs were burning, his throat was on fire. His undershirt squeezed him too tight and he clawed at it with panicked hands until it was clear from his body.

He gasped desperately in the open air, trying to drag in enough oxygen for his abused body but it wasn’t coming, wasn’t enough. His heartbeat pounded louder and louder in his ears and tears leaked from his eyes and dear God this was it, the doctors had been right, he was dying, he was _dying_.

Then Bucky was there, his big body a familiar outline against the dim afternoon light, his weight a familiar presence on his mattress, lifting him and holding him and rubbing smooth circles on his back and Steve collapsed in the embrace. The heavy pressure of Bucky’s broad palm between his shoulder blades let Steve draw in a full, decadent lungful of air and he sobbed in relief. He was safe. Bucky was here, Bucky had him and he was safe.

Eventually Steve’s breathing regulated and as soon as his mind started receiving enough oxygen again he felt the familiar flood of anger and shame. Another asthma attack. He was pathetic. No wonder his soulmate didn’t want hi-

_What happened, Stevie? You say something stupid?_

A sob caught in his throat as the nightmare that had woken him came back in full force.

“Bucky,” he wheezed into his friend’s shoulder. “Bucky, I didn’t say something stupid.”

Bucky’s hand paused a second before continuing rubbing his back. “Well that ain’t nothing but obvious. You couldn’t barely breathe let alone talk.”

Sitting up on the bed to face his friend, Steve let his feelings pour from his eyes, practically begging his pal to understand.

“I didn’t say nothing at all to her. Not ever. Not any of the times I saw her.”

Bucky’s face frowned in confusion, then softened. “Oh Stevie,” he sighed. “What am I gonna do with you? Only you could be so fucking terrible with women that you forgot to speak your soulmate’s words.”

“She doesn’t know, Buck,” Steve moaned. “She doesn’t _know_!”

A wash of hot tears forced his eyes closed and when Bucky grabbed him again and pulled him in to his chest, Steve let him. He sagged against his friend's strong body and told himself it was still because of his asthma attack and even though Bucky was rubbing his palm directly over the dark letters on his shoulder blade neither one of them said a word about it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gold and pearl handled double barrel derringers are a thing and they are gorgeous. They were made from 1866 to 1935 and were valued for their small size and the ability to conceal them easily in clothing. The pearl handles could be ordered regularly, and the gold plating could be ordered special. 
> 
> Also, Darcy chose the name "Lily Evergreen". She decided "Lily Red-shirt" didn't sound right. So yeah, she's Agent Evergreen.


	5. Ruminating on cheap whiskey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again sweethearts
> 
> I have a present for you, my darlings! Chapter five, presented here for your reading pleasure.  
> Thank you again a million times over for all the love. Your comments and kudos make my heart sing!
> 
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

After listening to Steve pour his heart out for hours and describing every moment of the encounters he’d had with Lily (“Tell me that part about her gun again, Pal, where did you say she kept it?”, “Shut up, jerk _”_ )  Bucky decided that the original opinion of Soulmates, the opinion he forged when he was six and could read his own traitorous Words - _no, don’t think about them_ \- still held true.

Soulmates were a bunch of horse shit.

According to the media, common opinion and the Church, soulmates were meant to be a boon, a comfort in the hard times, a balm for those with heavy hearts, a gift from God to His Faithful. They were meant to be a reminder that everybody had a match out there somewhere, that someone, even if it was someone they didn’t know yet, loved them or wanted them or needed them. Soulmates were meant to be Fated to encounter each other, as though it were as simple as _Half a pound of that one there, please, Sir_ and _Of course, ma’am, that’s forty-seven cents_ and bam! Instant happiness forever.

But common opinion ignored a lot of facts when it came to soulmates.

Some soulmates died before they could meet.

Some soulmates were better as friends.

Some soulmates were disasters and hurt the ones they were meant to love.

Some soulmates were of the same gender, which was illegal and shameful and had to be hidden.

Some people didn’t have marks at all.

And some people loved others who were never _ever_ meant to be for _them_.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Bucky was worried that now his friend had seen his soulmate again and realised she didn’t even know he _was_ her Soulmate, Steve would fall straight back into that awful depression. He was pleased to find that could not have been more wrong. And the source of Steve’s unexpected resilience came in the shape of none other than one Miss Sally-Anne Proctor, Bucky Barnes’ new best ally in the ever-continuing war that was keeping Steve Rogers alive and sane.

In the weeks following the incident at the benefit concert, Steve and Bucky checked on Hetty and Sally-Anne every few days. First off it was to make sure they were recovering from the shock and seeing that they were well, however soon a new connection was blossoming. Not between Hetty and Bucky – Oh, Hetty was friendly enough, sure, but she had started going steady with a fella from the local bakery. It meant the end to Bucky being able to take her dancing and he mourned the loss of one of his favourite dance partners but he was happy for her nonetheless. Sally-Anne and Steve, though, to Bucky’s surprise, fared much better.

It happened slowly, so slowly that Bucky couldn’t even see when it had begun, but soon he was coming home from the docks to find Steve sitting up on the couch with his sketchbook and another soft smile and dinner already made and whenever Bucky asked what was up, Steve would just shake his head and say “Sally-Anne”. And no matter how much Bucky teased and prodded, Steve stayed tight-lipped and refused to give up any more information. Not even pulling out the Best Friend Patented Guilt Look would convince Steve to spill the details, the loyal jerk.

Bucky assumed at first Steve’s affection was one-sided, because that’s how things usually went in the romance department when it came to Steve. None of the girls in Brooklyn had ever been able to see past Steve’s physical limitations through to the great man he was inside, which was ridiculously short-sighted and unjust in Bucky’s opinion and made him think less of the girls he hung around with. And then slowly, sometimes once a fortnight, other times twice a week, Sally-Anne started visiting Steve at their apartment too. And _always_ while Bucky was out at work or the gym or a tournament. Sally-Anne, Bucky realised, might see through to the real Steve. And he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

One Saturday night, Bucky came home in particular spirits. He’d won his boxing match in three rounds against his closest rival, Timmy Carston, and bagged himself both the fight prize and a bonus. The prize money went straight into the little tin in the top cupboard, which was grand because it meant they’d meet rent this month, while the bonus went to a fresh bottle of whiskey and a few sips down at the local with the other guys from his gym, even though his coach repeatedly told them not to drink booze after a bout. The couple of knocks to his head that Timmy got in plus the couple of drinks may have left Bucky somewhat more light-headed than usual. Light-headed and contemplative and keen to debate the mysteries of the universe with his best pal.

So it was with a pang of disappointment that Bucky realised he was alone in the apartment, Steve and his jacket and his keys nowhere to be found. Out with Sally-Anne, no doubt, Bucky thought, chuckling to himself. Steve out with a girl and Bucky home alone, that was new. Then he felt his face shift into a frown, and quite a serious frown at that.

Wait a minute. A frown? Why was he frowning? Sally-Anne seemed like a swell gal, even if she was far too quiet for his own personal tastes. And she didn’t dance, either. But she was sweet and kind and seemed to genuinely like Steve… so what was wrong? Was he jealous again? He thought about it, turned the possibility over in his mind. No… that wasn’t quite it. Oh sure, he’d love to be the only one Steve devoted himself to, but there was something else…

Bucky mused. He poured himself a couple of fingers of his new whiskey, drank it, poured himself another, then settled into the arm chair next to the open window and lit one of the cigarettes he couldn’t smoke when Steve was home.

Steve was his best friend. Had always been his best friend. Steve was a genuinely good man who had been given a bum rap by life and deserved all the happiness he could get. And now, apparently, he was finding happiness with sweet little Sally-Anne.

So what was the problem?

He pictured Steve and Sally-Anne standing together, holding hands and smiling. Well, Steve was smiling. Sally-Anne was doing that queer lip thing that Steve swore up and down was a smile. Steve would walk next to her and they would be quiet but comfortable and Steve would look over into her brown eyes…

But that wouldn’t be right. Steve’s favourite colour was blue. The deep blue of a winter lake, he said. Blue like the flowers on a pretty patterned dress. Blue like…

Oh.

Shit.

Soulmate horse shit or not, Bucky wanted Steve to be with Lily.

And wasn’t that just a kicker?

He poured himself another whiskey.

 

 

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

Bucky blinked and concentrated on the shadows in front of his face. Things were blurry, but vaguely familiar… Almost like… Yep, he had passed out in the armchair. The window next to him was still cracked open from when he was smoking, and he was now freezing, so he must have been out of it for at least a couple hours. While he watched, sleepy-eyed and lethargic and really quite tipsy, Steve, who it seemed had only just got home, pushed down the squeaky window, fetched the throw from the back of the couch and covered him up, tucking the scratchy wool right up to his chin.

“It’s too cold to sleep there like that, pal, it’s October. Why didn’t you set the heater on?”

Bucky extracted one arm from beneath his blanket and waved in the approximate direction of the heater.

“S’got no oil,” he mumbled. “Ain’t got no care package from your girl recen’ly. Prolly scared her off or somethin’, decided we was no good,”

Steve’s face did a strange thing. His eyebrows came together real close and his eyes got all squinty.

“You alright, Buck?”

“You betchya. Gotta good fight in, t’day. Won us the rent. You reckon that’d impress your dame? That sparkly one…” He sighed. “Geez, pal, she sure is real pretty, ain’t she? Ain’t never seen a girl prettier’n yours,”

Steve’s face was doing a thing again. Bucky tried real hard to focus on it. Did Steve’s mouth always look like that? All funny and lemony and squished up… Bucky brought his free hand up and cupped Steve’s jaw, frowning while he tried to decipher the deeper meanings behind Steve’s lips.

“Steve,” he breathed, not noticing his friend’s wince when he copped a face full of whiskey fumes. “Steve, your face is dumb.”

His best friend snorted but didn’t move away. “And you’re drunk.”

“Yep,” Bucky replied, popping the ‘p’. “Suuuuure am.”

“Any particular reason why?”

 “Cos… err…” He frowned some more. There had been a reason he’d had those extra drinks, hadn’t there? Then he remembered. “Cos your face is dumb an’ your mouth is dumb an’ you di’nt say her damn words an… an… an aww hell, Stevie… that girl saved us. If it weren’t for her, you’da got the claret kicked outta ya til there was nothin’ left an I’d be toast.”

Steve pulled his jaw away and let Bucky’s hand drop heavily onto his lap.

“Yeah, pal. I know she did.”

“An… an… an it ain’t _right_ , Stevie, you walkin’ out with Sally-Anne… Not when… You shoulda… you shoulda…”

"Thought you didn't like soulmates, Buck."

"Yeah well maybe yours is a good one."

Steve sighed heavily and stood up, grabbing Bucky’s hand as he went.

“Come on. Time for bed. We’ll talk about it in the morning, alright?”

“Yeah, pal. Orrite.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Bucky glared at the toast-covered plate that clanked loudly on the kitchen table in front of him then looked up and turned his glare on his roommate, who just sat back in his own chair with a huge grin threatening to split his face in half. Some friend he had, taking joy in another man’s pain.

“Quit fucking grinning like that, you fool. ‘S too early,”

“Can’t help it,” Steve smirked. “My face is dumb, remember? And it’s eleven.”

Bucky groaned and dropped his head into his hands. There were hammers pounding inside his skull and all he wanted to do was crawl under a rock and die for a little while but no, _someone_ insisted they _talk_ before going to his family’s house for their usual Sunday meal.

“Whaddya want from me?” he moaned into his palms. ‘S’fucking torture is what this is,”

“I want to talk about what you said last night. About Lily and Sally-Anne.”

His stomach gave a lurch which he was pretty sure was because of his hangover and not because of Steve wanting to talk about his Soulmate. The Soulmate that Bucky had been unfairly and erroneously hating for nine months, the one who saved Stevie twice over, provided for them even though she was under no obligation to do so. The one who killed a man to save _his_ life. Yeah, nah, that need to vomit was definitely the whiskey and not a shit tonne of blinding, agonizing guilt.

“You’re a grown man, Stevie. You can pick whatever girl you want, soulmate or not. Ain’t no business of mine and I shouldn’t’ve said anything different.”

“See that’s just it. I reckon I might have given you the wrong impression about something.”

Curious now, Bucky lifted his head just enough to study Steve’s guilty expression. The punk had been hiding something after all.

“Me’n Sally-Anne… we’re not, um… we’re not together. I mean, we see each other a lot but we’re not going steady or nothing.”

 “You makin’ time with a girl you’re not even steady with, Stevie? Gotta admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.” He slowly lifted an eyebrow and Steve squirmed in his chair like a school boy being scolded.

“It’s not like that, Buck,” he muttered. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”

Steve disappeared into the bedroom then came back with a bulging sketchbook. Placing it on the table gently so nothing fell out, Steve opened it up and began flicking through pages and pages and pages of articles and clippings from newspapers and magazines that had been collected over the course of several months. Each and every one of them was about Lily Evergreen and her career, mapping the places she toured, the people she collaborated with, the interviews she gave.

“I’m sweet on Lily, Buck, not anyone else. Hell, I’m so dizzy for this dame it’s downright scary.” Steve ran a fingertip across a particularly large photo from one of Lily’s more recent interviews. “And… and Sally-Anne…”

“You shouldn’t be leading her on if you’re not interested, Steve. Ain’t right to trick a lady like that.”

To Bucky’s surprise, Steve just laughed. “Like I said, it’s not like that. I’m not leading her on at all, trust me, I’m really not her type. And before you say anything, neither are you. In fact, the reason I’ve been spending so much time with her is because Sally-Anne likes Lily too. She's a big fan. Even has some of her records. We’ve been following Lily’s tours, listening to her radio interviews. It’s… it’s nice. It helps me feel connected to her, you know?”

Putting aside the casual revelation about Sally-Anne’s sexuality for the moment, Bucky winced when a perfectly clear, shining thought pierced the fog of his hangover and boy did it sting.

“You’ve been hiding this from me? Hiding Lily from me?” he asked, already dreading the answer. He thought he’d been able to conceal his conflicted emotions when it came to Lily, but obviously not if Steve had turned to sneaking around behind his back just to avoid a confrontation.

Steve couldn’t meet his eyes, which was all the confirmation Bucky needed. Jesus Christ he felt like a cad. He’d been so full of his own bullshit, so full of his own fate-related problems, so caught up with blaming Lily for everything that he’d forced Steve into hiding the affection he felt for his own damned soulmate. Steve, who was nothing but good, Steve who deserved every scrap of happiness he could gather. Steve who deserved to be with a spitfire like Lily, a bold, beautiful force of nature that would balance the fire inside him. One who would stare down bullies armed with a tin of peaches and a sharp tongue. One who was kind enough to care for him even before knowing they were fated, who saw Steve’s fighting and recklessness and illnesses and righteousness and still came back for more.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t want to go behind your back but I know you. I could see how hot you ran when I talked about Lily or even just soulmates in general. I didn’t want to upset you. I know last time it got bad and I didn’t want to make you worry again.”

Hauling himself to his feet, Bucky made it to the kitchen sink just in time to empty his stomach contents down the drain. Acid stung his throat as he coughed and retched, bringing up more bile. Steve fussed around him, fetching him a glass of milk, then rubbing his back.

“I’m sorry. I shoulda- ,”

“No,” Bucky turned and grabbed Steve’s shoulders to pull him in for a rough embrace. “No, this one is on me. Pal, I want you to talk about your girl all you want, ain’t nothin’ wrong or bad about it at all. You know I got my own issues with soulmates but that’s my problem, not yours. And Lily, well. Beautiful, talented, ballsy, kind and brave. If that dame ain’t perfect for you, I’ll eat my damn hat and I want to hear every word you’ve got to say about it.”

 

 

 


	6. Take me out to the ball game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something for my favourite people...
> 
> Kisses  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

 

An unopened letter addressed in familiar handwriting burned a hole in Steve’s jacket pocket and he couldn’t keep from pacing up and down the wharf side warehouses as he waited for Bucky to finish up his double shift at work. It was late to be about and Bucky would probably have his hide for venturing out by himself instead of waiting at home but after months of silence Lily finally contacted them again and he felt like he was fit to explode with impatience and joy. As often as he and Sally-Anne met to discuss their mutual enthusiasm of the unreachable famous singer Lily Evergreen, he’d never actually revealed the fact she was his soulmate and he was desperate to drag Bucky home and pour over the contents of Lily’s letter. Another brown-paper wrapped parcel marked for both him and Bucky accompanied the letter and he couldn’t wait to open that either.

So deep in his thoughts, Steve didn’t notice he had company on the sidewalk until he bumped right into someone, one of the dock workers just finishing up for the night.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, catching his breath.

“Oi, you blind? Watch it, shrimp!” the big man sneered. His fat, dirty hand grabbed Steve’s shoulder and shoved him backwards into the steel wall of a warehouse. “Need to teach you to show some respect, do we?”

The man’s companion, another dock worker, laughed and snatched Lily’s package from Steve’s grip. “What’s this then hey? Fairy boy got presents sent from his Mama?”

Steve made a futile attempt to free himself from the first guy’s hold, which only seemed to amuse the thugs.

“Get your no-good mitts offa that!” he cried. “Don’t belong to you!”

“Got yourself a mouth on you, don’t ya punk? Oughta- ,”

“ _Killarney! Nelson!_ What the blazing hell you think you’re doing’?”

A new guy charged up the street. He was just as big as the first two and dressed in the same dirty work clothes but instead of greasy arrogance he wore an expression of almost comical alarm. He rushed up to the first guy and pulled him off of Steve, cussing at a thousand miles an hour.

“You big idiots got no eyes on you?” New Guy asked, ignoring a shocked Steve. “Can’t you see it’s that Rogers kid? Creedy’s gonna have your hides six ways to Sunday!”

The two thugs shrank inwards and started to sweat like they were kids and their Pa had called for his belt. The first one tried stammering something but the New Guy just punched him in the arm and told both him and his mate to piss off, that he’d handle it. Once they were on their way, New Guy picked up Lily’s parcel and held it out to a very confused Steve.

“Sorry ‘bout that, kid,” he said. He brushed Steve’s lapels off, smoothing the wrinkles of his jacket. “Fools, the both of em. They know better.”

“Uh, sure. No problem.”

“Jim Carston,” his new benefactor introduced himself with a quick handshake. “My kid brother Tim is a welterweight at the Y with your mate Barnes. You waiting for him to finish up? Mind if I wait with you?”

Steve shook his head. He didn’t know what Jim Carston’s deal was, but he had just intervened on Steve’s behalf and if he now wanted to stick around and make awkward conversation, well, that was probably fine. He wanted to ask about the thugs Killarney and Nelson but his new friend kept steering the subject away in a different direction, chatting so fast Steve could hardly get a word in edgewise.

Eventually Bucky emerged from the warehouse across the street, lighting a cigarette as soon as he stepped clear of the doorway. His movements were as languid as always but Steve could see the tension rise in his body the moment he spotted Steve and Carston. Deliberately casual, Bucky strolled over to where the pair stood waiting and nodded a greeting that had a serious undercurrent of _You should not be here and we will discuss this_ then turned to Steve’s new self-appointed best friend.

“Jimmy. Thought you finished up an hour ago?”

“Just making friends, mac,” came Carston’s quick reply. “It being a nice night and all.”

Steve snorted. Killarney and Nelson hadn’t seemed much like they were interested in being friendly no matter how temperate the weather was.

“Something the matter, Stevie?” Bucky asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Before Steve could say anything, Jimmy cut in, patting Steve on the shoulder as he spoke. “Just a misunderstanding, Barnes. No harm done.”

“Is that right?” Bucky took a long drag on his cigarette, eyes glued to Jimmy even though the question was aimed at Steve.

“Yeah, Buck. Nothing doing.”

The three of them waited in silence while Bucky filled his lungs with another slow drag. The friction between them was tangible, settling thick in the middle of Steve’s back, until finally Bucky dropped his stub and squashed it underfoot. He tilted his head to Carston in a wordless goodbye and steered Steve all the way back home.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

The moment the apartment door closed behind him, Bucky was on him just like Steve knew he would be.

“You trying to get yourself killed now?” he snapped. “Wandering around the docks at night, making trouble by yourself like some kind of thrill seeking loon? How many times I gotta warn you huh? How many times?”

“Shoot, Buck, I know, I just- ,”

“Just nothing! It ain’t _safe_ , Stevie!”

“I wasn’t looking for trouble! I was just waiting on you!” Steve snapped back. He dropped Lily’s parcel onto the coffee table and angrily shucked his coat.

Watching Bucky’s shoulders slump in defeat caused all the indignant anger in Steve to flee in an instant. The lines of fatigue were clear on Bucky’s face and no matter how well Bucky could paste on the charm for anyone else, Steve could see the exhaustion he carried. A month ago Steve had been laid off from his newspaper job due to a particularly bad patch with his health and since then Bucky had been working double shifts to make up the difference. His friend was working himself to the bone trying to keep them both afloat. All the worse, Bucky’s often repeated concerns were valid, the docks _were_ dangerous, especially for unfamiliar faces and especially at night. The run-in with Killarney and Nelson just served to prove it. He sighed.

“I’m sorry, Buck. You’re right, I didn’t listen.”

Bucky swore again and ran both his hands through his hair.

“Godammit, Steve, you were out there where anyone could see you, standing next to Jimmy damned Carston! Just palling around at the docks with Creedy’s man like it was a fucking carnival!”

Steve frowned. “He said his brother was a friend of yours.”

“Yeah, a friend I beat up on the regular and earn tournament money every time I do,” Bucky snorted. He removed his own jacket then slumped on the couch. “Listen, Steve, you know the stories. Creedy’s men are no good and Carston is one of the ones high up the food chain. Just do me a favour and don’t… don’t get involved.”

In a rare moment of self-preservation, Steve decided that perhaps now was not the time to mention Killarney and Nelson.

Kicking off his dirty boots, Bucky lifted his feet onto the coffee table and gently toed Lily’s parcel. One corner of his mouth lifted in the beginnings of a grin and just like that Steve knew he was forgiven.

“You wanna show me what’s so special it’s got you risking life and limb to get it to me?”

Steve grinned back.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

_Dear Steve and Bucky_

_I had planned on being in NYC for the summer but something unexpected has come up and I’ll be unavailable for a while._

_So it’s up to the Postmaster General to keep my promise for me this year. Neither snow, nor rain, right?_

_I’d write that I hope you’re both keeping out of trouble, but we all know that’s impossible._

_Say hi to Petey and his sister for me,_

_Lily_

 

 

 

 

“See, I’ve been thinking about it,” mangled Bucky around a truly enormous bit of hot dog. “An I changed my mind. Lily ain’t no guardian angel. She’s a witch.”

Steve paused with his own food halfway to his mouth. Bucky had been getting a lot better about listening to Steve talk about his soulmate but to someone who knew him as well as Steve did, it was obvious the topic still made him uncomfortable. They’d never really hashed out the particulars and Steve didn’t know if it was because of Bucky’s resistance regarding his own soulmate or if perhaps talking about Lily reminded Bucky of that night at the Park with the rifle aimed at him, but regardless of the reason, up until now Bucky had _never_ instigated a conversation about Lily of his own volition.

“You calling my girl a witch, Buck?” Steve replied, his voice as even as he could make it. He stared out at the ball field in front of them just in case eye contact made Bucky spook like a jumpy tomcat. Red Barber’s southern twang crackled through ancient speakers, announcing a lazy fielder’s catch that was _easier’n a bank of fog_.

Bucky hummed, swallowing. “A good one. You know, like Glynda. How else d’ya reckon she could have got these seats?”

Steve ducked his head to hide what he just knew was a goofy smile. The parcel that Lily sent them had contained what she called ‘belated birthday presents, with apologies for tardiness’- a pair of league-quality baseball gloves with stitching so tight it made Bucky drool, two brand new balls and new season’s Dodger’s caps for the both of them that looked suspiciously like the team-members-only caps and not regular merchandise. Another, smaller envelope inside the parcel contained tickets to today’s ball game with allocated seating right above the Dodger’s dugout. Steve shuddered to think about how much their gifts would have cost – Bucky was right, these seats alone were worth more than just money, only someone with pull could have picked them up.

“You complaining, pal?”

“Hey, if your gal wants to spoil rotten two Brooklyn bums she barely knows, who am I to argue?” Bucky grinned and shoved the last of his hot dog in his face. “But if she comes at us with some red shiny shoes, I’m gonna have to decline, no matter how pretty they are.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

When the game finished the two men were hesitant to leave, lingering in their seats long after the last call and the rest of the stadium slowly emptied. It had been a great day and not just because the Dodgers beat the Braves. The grin on Steve’s face was beatific, his skinny shoulders relaxed and happy, and his voice light and filled with fun again. Lily had done that, and Bucky was man enough to admit it. It stung a bit, sure, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t and he doubted he was going to get over his jealousy any time soon but he could at least see it for what it was. It helped to know that Lily was keen on maintaining as much of a relationship with Steve as she could, given her career commitments. They still didn’t know _why_ Lily was so interested in them, especially given Steve hadn’t said her Words yet, but for now it was good enough that whatever her reason, she _was_ interested.

Just as they were thinking about making a move, a broad shouldered man thumped down the terrace steps towards them with a slightly smaller man following behind. Steve dug an elbow into his side and hissed into his ear.

“ _That’s Pete Reiser and Pee Wee Reese!_ ”

Bucky would have responded to the completely unnecessary observation, _thank you Steve_ _I know the names of my own damned team_ , but the two men were upon them and smiling wide like they were old chums.

“Steve and Bucky, right?” Reiser extended his hand for a firm shake. “Boy am I glad you guys stuck around. I was worried you might have left already!”

 With Steve hanging mute in star struck adoration, Bucky took the lead. “Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Real pleasure to meet you Mister Reiser, Mister Reese. Something we can help you with?”

After exchanging a quick look the two baseballers unfolded and dropped down hard on the metal stadium seats on the next row up. Watching the silent communication between them and noticing their tense stature, the hair rose on Bucky’s neck and he crossed his arms. Famous ball players or not, if these fellas were going to start something there would be trouble.

“So, uh…” began Reiser. He pulled his cap off and ran his hand through his hair. “So Lily told me you fellas were old family friends of hers? That she was bosom pals with Sarah Rogers?”

“That’s right,” Bucky cut Steve off before he could say something stupid like admit they didn’t know Lily knew his Ma. “Lily and Mrs Rogers were tighter’n bark on a tree. How do you know Lily?”

“Lily helped my family out of a real pickle about a year ago now,” Reiser said. His mouth twitched down as he spoke. “My sister was over visiting the Continent and when things started getting real hot over there she got stuck. Lily took her in as part of her entourage and managed to find her a spot on an airplane heading for home. One of Howard Stark’s planes too, can you believe it?”

“Your sister’ll never let you forget it neither,” ribbed Pee Wee. “Says she only flies with Stark now even though that’s the only time she’s been in the air.”

Well that explained the mystery of their seats above the dugout, Lily must have pulled in the tickets as a return favour from Reiser. Seeing him and Pee Wee laugh over their shared joke, Bucky relaxed a little. Something was going on here, that was for sure, but maybe it wasn’t as sinister as he first suspected. If they were friends of Lily’s then surely they could be trusted, right?

Their laughter faded and then Reiser coughed into his fist, looking far more awkward than any grown man should. His cheeks pinked a little and Bucky had the sudden realisation that this must be how dames must feel when they’re about to be asked out to a dance by Steve. Pee Wee jostled his pal’s arm, obviously impatient.

“Lily, uh… Lily said you were an artist, Steve? Like with portraits?”

Steve nodded slowly, obviously hesitant.

“And that you’re, uh… discreet?”

Again, Steve nodded. “Yeah, I can be I guess, although I’m not sure why…”

Pee Wee rolled his eyes. “Listen, mac, we’re on the road a lot, right? And Reiser and some of the other lads get lonesome missin’ their gals. Are you seeing what we’re saying here?”

Steve’s mouth dropped open and his face went as pink as Reiser’s as Pee Wee’s meaning became clear. Bucky felt fit to burst with laughter, straining to keep himself in check.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the Dodgers were asking Steve to paint them blue pictures of their sweethearts.

This was the best day of his life.

 

 

 


	7. Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after Prospect Park, Lily is back in Brooklyn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a short one because its intense. 
> 
> Please direct all heart-related concerns to relevant medical personnel.
> 
> All my love  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

There was nothing about the morning to indicate it would be one of the most important days of Steve’s life. It was just another regular Thursday. He had found some work delivering groceries for Mr Schofield a couple days a week and while it wasn’t much, it was at least something. Between that and his new art projects and Bucky’s recent boxing tournament successes, Bucky had been able to cut back to single shifts again and they had even managed to scrape together a decent little pot of savings in the tin in the kitchen cupboard. It was a busy time for them and they still had to be careful with their pennies, but things was pretty good overall.

This Thursday Steve had been on his feet for hours already, pounding the pavement in his newspaper-stuffed shoes all around Flatbush to make his deliveries. He’d just stopped off at one place and was on his way back to the store, his head already mapping out his next route, when a squeal of brakes and the screeching blare of a horn made him look up just in time to see the looming front grill of a truck about to run him down. On the sidewalk a woman screamed a warning, high and shrill.

A flash of dark curls and navy roses smashed into his side and launched him from his feet. Tangled together, he and his timely rescuer rolled over and over until they hit the curb at the side of the street just before the truck barrelled past them. The truck’s driver leaned on his horn, gesturing wildly and chewing them out from his window in true New Yorker style.

“Really?” came a familiar albeit somewhat breathless voice.  “I’m back in Brooklyn for less than an hour and you’re doing this to me?”

Steve dropped his head back on the concrete gutter and let his eyes drift shut. He must have hit his head harder than he realised. He had to be dreaming. Or dead.

“Ugh. _That’s_ going to leave a mark. Come on Stevie, sweetheart, open those baby blues for me, show me how non-concussed you are,”

A warm hand smoothing the hair from his forehead had his eyes flying open and he looked up into the smiling face of an angel. _His_ angel. Lily. He _wasn’t_ dreaming.

“There we go, good boy. You rest here and I’ll go get some help.”

Panic reared up inside him, big and ugly, and he gasped in a breath, suddenly desperate for air. He snatched up her wrist in a bruising grip. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t disappear again, she _couldn’t-_

“Please. Don’t leave me again,” he wheezed, desperation clear in every syllable.

Lily shot back on her heels, her free hand flying to her side, her eyes as wide as china saucers. For a long moment they stared at each other, neither one capable of more, until Lily’s ruby red lips worked out how to speak again.

“You… They’re my…” she whispered, her sapphire eyes locked onto his as though she expected him to deny it. To Steve, she was a squirrel caught in a car’s headlights, unnaturally frozen until the moment she could bolt to freedom and he silently prayed she wouldn’t suddenly turn tail and run from him. Steve had seen her outnumbered in a fistfight against four men, perform by herself on a stage in front of hundreds of people, had seen her shoot a foreign gunman dead to save a life without a flinch, but never had he seen her so damned terrified as she was in this moment.

Slowly he got to his feet, ignoring the pull and twitch of what felt like many, _many_ soon-to-be bruises, then leaned down to help Lily. She curled an arm around his shoulders and let him lift her to her feet, resting almost all of her weight on him in an uncoordinated lean that spoke more than any words could of just how muddled she was. He accepted it with dizzy glee, the long fantasised feeling of her in his arms finally a reality. He couldn’t shake the sensation of how _right_ it was, how her gorgeous curves fit against his skinny bones like they were born to balance each other, had been specifically built to connect so perfectly. They stood there locked in each other’s embrace for an aching, beautiful eon that Steve prayed would last forever.

The obnoxious blare of a horn startled them both and Lily snapped her head around to find the car responsible. A sleek black Ford idled a few yards away from them, its driver waving impatiently through his open window.

“I… I have to go now,” Lily stuttered out.

“Wait, don’t,” he begged. “Please, tell me I said them didn’t I? I said your words?”

She lifted her gaze to his and he was thrown for a loop again at just how wide those blue eyes were, how pale her face had grown. She nodded, a tiny hesitant tilt of her head.

 “Steve… I…” Lily brought shaking fingertips up and softly traced them across his jawline as though he would shatter beneath her touch. “It’s _you_ ,”

“Yeah, Lily,” he breathed. “It’s me.”

He didn’t want this magic moment to end.

The black Ford slammed its horn again.

“Lily!” the driver hollered. “Shake a leg, doll! Can’t keep the big guy waiting!”

She blinked rapidly.

“This is… Wow. Just… I’m sorry but I really do have to go.”

He tightened his grip and pressed his cheek into the dark curls by her ear. “Please, Lily, I only just found you again, you can’t-,”

With firm hands Lily extricated herself from his embrace. She checked the modest silver watch on her wrist and grimaced when she saw the glass on its face smashed beyond repair, most likely from their fall.

“Just for now, I promise its important. I’ll explain later? Say, after dinner tonight?”

Even though everything inside him was screaming to never _ever_ let her go, he released his grip and his arms dropped. Lily leaned in and skimmed a quick kiss along his cheekbone and he shivered at the soft brush of her lips on his skin.

“God, Steve, I never… I’ve got so much I have to tell you. Eight o’clock, your apartment. I’ll bring the wine.”

Steve stood stock still and watched her walk away. Her blue skirts swished as she climbed into that fancy black car and before the door had even closed properly it was peeling away down the street in a roar of engine smoke, once again taking her beyond his reach.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE A CONFIRMED SOULMATE MATCH, PEOPLE!
> 
> THIS IS NOT A DRILL!
> 
> Darcy's view:
> 
> = driving on the way to Very Important Meeting=  
> "Hey, is that Steve? Why isn't he looking where he's- STOP THE CAR!"  
> = launches self into traffic=


	8. Okay, Jose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been sixteen months since Darcy and Steve's first meeting in the alley and twelve months since the gunfight at Prospect Park for all of you playing at home and is now Spring 1941.
> 
>  
> 
> Goodness Gracious things are about to start heating up in here! Please make use of these imaginary swooning couches I've brought in for the occasion!
> 
> Shine on, you crazy diamonds  
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It had been three years since Steve’s Ma died but there wasn’t a day that passed where he didn’t think of her, didn’t think of the little family they had been back then with just the two of them. Sometimes it was with love, sometimes fond recollection if something sparked a memory of her. Today though, Steve felt the absence of his mother as a sharp pang deep beneath his breastbone, a physical ache of loss. Here he was, buzzing around his apartment like a bumblebee in a rainstorm constantly about to bump his head on a windowpane, and all he could think about was how his Soulmate would be coming soon and what his Ma might have said or done to put him at ease, what advice she would have for him and how she would have helped him prepare. His Ma had _known_ Lily – Pete Reiser said they were bosom friends – so surely his Ma would have had some insight that would work in his favour. It was fairly obvious that his Ma had told Lily about _him_ , because how else would she know all that she did?

Steve raced home from Mr Schofield’s in the early afternoon and found the apartment in its usual shambles. Neither he nor Bucky were particularly neat individuals and their home was obviously the habitat of two bachelors with no love of the domestic arts. He flew from room to room opening the windows, putting things away, collecting old newspapers and dirty dishes. He roughly shoved a pile of dirty laundry beneath Bucky’s bed – he’d be darned if _his_ bed was going to stink like Bucky’s gym socks – and was part way through wiping down the dusty surfaces in the living room when his allergies reared their ugly head and he had to stop before he risked a full-blown asthma attack.

He was collapsed on the couch with his head tipped back against the cushions and silently panicking about what glassware to use tonight – Lily had said something about wine, hadn’t she? He couldn’t serve her one of their chipped tumblers! Or worse, the mugs! God, what would his Ma do? – when the sound of Bucky’s key in the lock had Steve springing from his seat.

“Hey punk, place looks good. You screw up or something?” Bucky said, scanning the place in appreciation. He shucked his jacket and went to throw it over the back of the couch, then thought better of it and hung it up on the hooks next to the door.

Steve coughed out something that was once perhaps a laugh. He was definitely panicking now. If Bucky was home, then it was already after six and that meant he had less than two hours before she’d be _right there with him._

“I didn’t think I did at the time but maybe? Yes?” He scrubbed the heel of his palm into his eyebrow to try and ease some of the pressure of his oncoming headache. “No. No, it’s not a screw up. It’s good. Well, it’s okay. It _will be_ okay.”

Rather than reassuring him, Steve had obviously said something to put Bucky on edge. His friend circled him like he was a rabid dog about to snap and attack the furniture.

“Steve… what did you do?”

“Ugh… I need, um, glasses. For wine,”

An eyebrow shot up. Bucky stepped closer and sniffed the air like he expected to smell booze.

“Wine glasses?” he asked, disbelief colouring the edge of his voice.

“Yeah. We ain’t got any,”

“We don’t drink wine, Steve. Ain’t never drank wine on the regular,”

Of course they didn’t. Wine was expensive and when any booze was a luxury, cheap whiskey or gin covered their needs just fine. Hell, no one he knew drank wine on the regular, with the exception of Father Paul, and that was just watered-down communion port that the old fella _called_ wine. And didn’t that just highlight the gaping disparity between him and Lily like nothing else? God, what was he even _thinking_? How could this ever work with the two of them being from such different worlds?

“Bucky” he moaned, dropping back onto the couch and covering his face with his hands. “I’ve screwed up,”

There was a moment of pause, then Bucky sighed and sat next to him, slinging an arm across his shoulders like he always did and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

“Just tell me what happened, pal, and we’ll figure it out,”

And there it was. Even if his Ma was gone, even if his Pa died before he was even born, Steve never had to go it alone. Bucky was there, Bucky had his back, Bucky would get him through even the worst of the trouble that always seemed to find him. To the end of the line. He shuddered in a long, deep breath.

“ _IsawLilyandsaidherWordsandnowshescominghereandbringingwineandIdontknowifIcandothis_ ,”

After a moment where Bucky slowly deciphered the rush of consonants that exploded out of Steve’s mouth, Bucky’s hand flexed on his shoulder, tension humming through his arm.

“You saw Lily?”

He nodded.

“And you said her words?”

Another nod.

“And she’s coming ‘round here and you’re panicking about it?”

 “Yeah,”

The two of them sat in silence, Bucky processing the new information and Steve letting the weight of Bucky’s arm steady him through his fear. Then Bucky spoke again, his voice queer and distant like he was speaking over the radio or from really far away even though they were still touching each other.

“Is this what you want, Steve? You want to try and make a go of things with Lily?”

Steve knew what Bucky was asking. He’d waxed poetic for years about soulmates not being the be-all and end-all of relationships, that people could and did find love in all manner of places and in all manner of situations and that no matter what Fate apparently declared, people still had free will and could choose for themselves. Bucky was asking him if Steve would _choose_ Lily, if she was what he really _wanted_.

What Bucky didn’t know was that it was far too late for Steve to be choosing anything now. He had already chosen her all the way back in the winter of 1939, chose her when she descended from Paradise like his own Avenging Angel, chose her when she cocked her hip and smiled that tilted smile for the very first time, chose her when her smoky voice sang directly into his heart. When she showed how brave and kind and selfless she was. When she had stared danger in the eye and waded into a fight to protect a bunch of strangers. When she saved the life of his best friend.

“Yeah, Buck. I want her,”

Bucky hung his head and closed his eyes in a moment of private thought. Breathed in through his nose. Licked his lips in that nervous habit he had when he thought no one was watching. Then he twisted his seat and with both hands he grabbed Steve by the jaw, piercing him deep and intense with his gaze.

“Then… then you gotta fight for it. _Show_ her how much you want her; how much you want it to work. Show her all the reasons why it _doesn’t matter_ what glasses you drink out of, or what clothes you wear, or who earns a bigger pay check. _You are enough, Stevie._ ”

Steve’s throat dried up at the sudden, fervent emotion pouring off Bucky. There was no joking around, no hiding sneaky compliments in carefully constructed insults, no shrugging off the absolute sincerity of Bucky’s words. Bucky genuinely believed that Steve was good enough for a dame like Lily and it tore straight through Steve’s defences like tissue paper. It was overwhelming.

Sensing the mood as easily as always, Bucky released Steve’s face and gave him a shove, pushing him off the couch and towards the bathroom

“Go shower and shave. Can’t have you stinking up the place in front of your girl, can we? Let me finish cleaning up, yeah? Then I’ll get lost for a while, give you some time.”

Just like that, they were back to normal.

“Sure thing. Thanks, Buck,”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

At exactly eight o’clock, which was impressive considering Lily’s watch was broken, there was a knock on his apartment door. Steve froze halfway through his silent worry over the fact he hadn’t bought flowers – Should he be giving Lily flowers? Or would that be too much pressure? It was just talking, right? Or was this a date? – and straightened his jacket and tie.

He opened the door, hoping his plastered-on smile swung more towards the ‘nervous but tentatively optimistic’ side of the scale instead of ‘terrified and unstable’.

“Lily,” he breathed, the tight fist of fear on his heart easing upon seeing her in the flesh. “You’re so _pretty_ ,”

Her eyebrows shot up and Steve’s eyes flew wide as he realised what he’d _said_ and he quickly stammered to correct himself.

“I mean, you _look_ pretty. That is, your dress is pretty. Not that _you’re_ not pretty, just-,”

Lily’s smile was beautiful. It was a happy curve of those plump red lips that echoed in her eyes and he realised she was laughing at him. With him. He stopped talking himself into a hole and just stared for a moment, delighting in the singular fact that his soulmate was standing in front of him and _smiling_. Then he saw her arms were filled with a large brown paper bag and he rushed to take it from her hands, glad to have a task to focus on.

“I’m so glad you came,” he said. It was easier to talk when he didn’t have to look at her.

“Yes, well, something really important happened to me today so I thought I should follow up on it. I met my soulmate, you know.”

Steve’s smile strengthened and he motioned her inside.

“I think you may have mentioned that earlier. Before you disappeared again, that is.”

Lily winced, removing her pea coat. “Yeah… that was unfortunate timing. Thing is though, I’ve heard my soulmate is a pretty understanding guy. I’m hoping he’ll let me explain a few things before telling me to forget about it all,”

Placing the bag on the coffee table, Steve felt a rush of excitement at her words. Lily was nervous too and that fact made him feel a million times better. He turned back to face her, noticing her twisting her fingers.

“Well I guess I’ve waited for you for near a year and a half now. Another afternoon wasn’t so bad,” he lied. “Would you like to sit down?”

Lily sat on the very edge of her seat on the couch and Steve sat kitty corner to her in the armchair. If he moved a few inches, he would have been able to bump their knees.

“A year and a half…” Lily exhaled. “So, I… I definitely said, um…”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve mumbled, both his mind and his pulse already racing ahead. Would she ask to see her words? Would he have to remove his shirt? He’d only just met her, really, they were almost strangers…

“Okay. Okay. Time for fortification.” Lily pulled a large bottle from the paper bag and several tiny little tin cups that looked a little like simplified whiskey jiggers. The bottle didn’t look like any wine Steve had seen and it had the name _Jose Cuervo_ on its label, followed by writing in a language he couldn’t read.

“I know I said wine, but I decided this really is more of a tequila situation,” Lily explained. “Have you had tequila before? I know it’s not very common outside the Mexican community in New York. I order this stuff in special.”

Steve shook his head, watching as she poured the liquid into three of the tin cups. At least he didn’t need to worry about his lack of wine glasses any more, he thought with relief. One tiny cup she pushed closer to him, the other two she moved to herself. At his unspoken question, Lily motioned to her second cup, a flicker of sadness and regret in her eyes.

“This one is for Jane. It’s tradition, whenever I drink tequila I pour one for her.”

“Is she a family member? Friend?”

“Both and neither. Jane was closer to me than any sister but not through blood.” Lily smiled, her gaze focused far away. “For a long time, it was just me and Jane against the world. She and I would stay up to watch the night sky and drink tequila and dream of rainbows and legends.”

“What happened?” As soon as he said the words he knew it was a mistake and sure enough he watched Lily’s face drop. What a knuckle-headed thing to ask!

 “It’s just me watching the night sky now. To the stars and back, my shield sister.” She raised Jane’s cup and her own, one in each hand, then to Steve’s amazement, she downed each one in a single swallow. Then she looked expectantly towards him and he raised his cup as well.

“To the stars and back,” he echoed, then downed his own drink.

The tequila tore through his throat like lava and he choked and coughed, feeling the burn scorching his entire gullet. Red faced and with tears stinging his eyes he spluttered. “What _is_ that?”

Lily grinned, seemingly not at all affected by her own drinks. “A gift from the Gods of Mexico. Mexico may be Catholic during the day, but at night the Agave Barons rule.”

The gift of the Gods of Mexico was apparently _very_ alcoholic. Steve inwardly prayed Lily wouldn’t want him to drink many more of those deceptively little cups of tequila. He honestly didn’t know how much of the stuff he could hold.

“So,” began Lily, holding out her hand to him. “Let’s do this. Hello Steven Grant Rogers, I’m your Soulmate. You can call me Lily, _not Lillian_ , Evergreen. I know a lot about you, mostly through embarrassing stories your mother told me.”

Steve gave a nervous little laugh and shook Lily’s hand in his. “Hello Lily _not Lillian_ Evergreen. I know a little bit about you, mostly through following your career and very little of it is embarrassing.”

“You follow my career?” Lily asked, surprised.

Ducking his head to hopefully hide his blush, Steve decided _not_ to show Lily the very extensive scrapbook he and Sally-Anne made of her. Lily might take it the wrong way, like he was a creep or something.

“Yeah, I mean… I knew you were my soulmate and I knew your name… and that was it. So, you know, I would pay attention when you were on the radio or in the papers.”

Lily hummed. “Alright. Well, that helps things a little bit, I guess. The next part, unfortunately, might cause some difficulties… between us…”

Panic hit Steve like a tidal wave and rolled into a heavy, stone ball in his gut. She was going to reject him, say her affections were already elsewhere, he just knew it. He had been rejected so many times before, he knew what it felt like. He knew what was coming. His panic must have been displayed on his face but rather than reassuring him, Lily’s expression turned suddenly very serious and it felt like the world fell out from beneath them.

“Steve. My career as a singer is a false cover, a distraction. I’m actually a spy, unofficially working for a secret agency within the United States government, against the Nazis.”

He stared. Blinked. Stared some more. That was… not what he was expecting.

Lily squirmed and started twisting her fingers together again.

“I know it doesn’t sound very believable, but please, trust me-,”

“I believe you,”

It was Lily’s turn to stare at him, her scarlet lips dropped open in a cartoonish ‘O’.

“You do?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I reckon I do. It makes sense. I mean, there are some things I’ve seen you do that I don’t know if many other singers can do,”

“Oh,” replied Lily. “Well. Uh. Thank you for believing me, I guess?”

Now that the stone in his gut had been dealt with, the wheels were moving in Steve’s head again. Perhaps Lily was right and the tequila _had_ fortified him against dealing with their conversation because somehow he had no qualms imagining Lily as a spy. In fact, in answered a lot of questions.

“Your meeting today, it was with another spy?” he asked.

Lily’s lips met in a firm line. “Not another spy but someone very important, someone I’ve been trying to get hold of for months now. I can’t tell you who, just like there will be a lot of other things I can’t or won’t be able to tell you… And unfortunately, you won’t be able to tell anyone we’re soulmates. It could be very dangerous if you did, but I can’t exactly tell you why that is either.”

Steve just nodded. “Spy stuff, right?”

Pouring them both another drink, Lily scoffed. “You’re taking this much better than I expected, you know, Steve.” She pushed his cup towards him and he sighed and picked it up. “I told you tequila would help.”

“To the stars and back,” he remembered, making her laugh. They threw back their drinks, Lily again without a flinch and Steve with a horrified grimace and a few moments of wheezing, wet coughs. “Tell me this gets better,” he begged.

Lily was already pouring the next one. “Practice. To the stars.”

He groaned loudly but accepted her offering. She was still one ahead of him because of the drink to Jane and he was too proud to get further behind. He _was_ starting to feel pretty tingly though. And his head felt light and floaty.

“I’m not going to be able to be a very good soulmate for a while, Stevie,” Lily said, a delicate dusting of pink on her cheeks. He liked it when she called him _Stevie._ He wanted her to _always_ call him Stevie.

“Oh? Whyssat?”

“Work things. Things I can’t tell you about. I won’t be able to visit or write much. Lots of secret spy secret things. I’ll be thinking of you though and I _will_ write as often as I can, if you want me to.”

The next drink went down much better. He thought he might be getting the hang of this Tequila thing.

“Lily. Lilllllleeeeee,” he snickered, letting her name linger on his tongue. He edged forward a little and let their knees bump. She was very close to him now, close enough for him to smell the lavender of her perfume. If he was a brave man he would reach out and touch one of the beautiful chocolate curls of hair that cascaded down her shoulder.  

“Steve. Steeeeeevieeeeee,” Her cerulean eyes danced in her lovely face and Steve thought she had never looked more beautiful. She blinked, a long slow drag of those dark lashes across her cheeks.

He took a deep breath. _Fight for it,_ he heard the echo of Bucky’s voice. _Show her how much you want her._

“Can I kiss you?”

Lily straightened immediately, her colour rising. Steve wondered if she was going to slap him for his presumptuous question but instead she started to giggle. She leaned forward over her knees and those glorious lips were just inches from his.

“ _Jose_ strikes again!” she declared, her smile round and honest and so very kissable. “Tequila has made you bold, Steve,”

He shook his head. “No. No, I’ve wanted to kiss you since you nailed that goon with a can of fruit,” he admitted. “You just kept running away,”

A challenge sparked in Lily’s eyes. “I’m not running now,”

Steve gathered every sense of courage within him, tequila-related or not, and raised a palm to cup Lily’s face. She was a candle and he the moth to her flame and he realised that he wanted to risk getting burned.

“Do you _want_ to run?” he asked. God, he wanted to kiss her, _feel_ her. He was half afraid that this was all a beautiful dream and when he touched her he would wake up.

“Not from you,” she breathed and his course was set.

The slightest shift of his body let his lips ghost over hers, a gentle sweep of satin against him that triggered a roar of sensation in his brain.

She moaned, sending a bolt of heat straight to his crotch, and her lips opened beneath his. Tilting her face ever so slightly, Steve deepened the kiss, swallowing every breath that escaped her as though it was the key to life. She was sweet and hot and lush and all the dreams he had of this moment were pale imitations to the thrumming vivacity of reality. He was drunk, not on the tequila but on the taste of _her_ , of his own beautiful, radiant soulmate.

The door to the apartment swung open and both Steve and Lily jumped away from each other like naughty schoolchildren. There was a beat of stunned silence while Bucky stood wide eyed and horrified at his interruption, before he mouthed a silent apology and backed out again, letting the door bang closed behind him.

Blood flew to his face and Steve knew his cheeks would be flaming red. He started to stammer and apologise but a giggling Lily waved it off.

“Don’t worry, Stevie, please, it’s fine. Its time I should be going anyway,” she laughed. She stood and pointed to the tequila on the table. “Another couple of them and you’ll think it’s funny too. Remember to share, though, or your stomach will make you regret it.”

He joined her on his feet and ran his hand through his hair, remembering as he did that just moments before that palm had been against Lily’s soft skin. How awful it must have looked to Bucky, seeing him and Lily like that, half-drunk booze clear on the table. Jesus, he probably thought Steve had been taking advantage of her or something. Hell, had he?

“I can hear you thinking, you know,” Lily smiled. She was waiting for him by the door, her coat already buttoned. “You’re fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“We’re fine?” he asked, hearing the neediness in his voice.

 “If you want us to be,” Lily pecked him on the cheek and pressed a card into his hand. “This is the number where I’m staying. Think things over and if you decide you’d like to see me again, leave a message. I’ll be in New York all week.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Bucky feels!!! That boy breaks my heart.
> 
> Also, tequila really only began to get popular in north america in the mid 40s when other supply of other alcohol grew problematic because of the War. It was available earlier than that, yes, but sometimes difficult to get. Considering it's Darcy's favourite drink though, I figure she'd use her contacts to keep her stocked.


	9. Second Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earning that rating a little bit with this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful readers and supporters
> 
> Here's some more angst and a splash of Darcy for you to enjoy.
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued love. You are the very very very best, I promise.
> 
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky slumped in the late-night shadows against the side wall of the apartment building, huddled deep in the collar of his jacket. He drew in a deep pull of his cigarette and then watched the smoke float away on his exhale. Across the street was a new model Ford, all gleaming black paint and chrome wheels and a brown-haired driver half-asleep in the front. The car and its owner were anomalies, too clean, too rich, too bright against the dirt and poverty of this part of town and frankly, Bucky was surprised no one had already come to cause problems. Times were hard, after all, and even good people get desperate when their children’s bellies are empty.

A staccato click of heels caught Bucky’s attention and he retreated further back into the shadows as the heels’ owner skipped down the apartment steps. Just because he had been waiting to see Lily didn’t mean he wanted to _talk_ to her. Hell no, he’d just barged in on her and Stevie’s intimate moment- he’d rather pull his own teeth than try to look her in the face right then.

He watched Lily cross the road and climb into the black car, the flare of her skirt beneath her coat and the perfect straight lines of her stockings running up the back of those just-as-perfectly shaped legs stealing his smoke-filled breath. Jesus Christ, Steve was a lucky man.

The Ford hummed to life. Confident he couldn’t be seen, Bucky allowed himself to stare unchecked at the gorgeous machine and its equally gorgeous passenger. It was only when the car pulled away from the curb did he realise that despite the shadows he had somehow been made by the very person he was staring at. She knew he was there. Their eyes met through the car window, his grey to her blue, and he knew he’d been busted.  

She smirked, a lazy twist of her blood red lips. The lips that had moments before been on _Steve’s_ lips. He should have done something charming, something cocky like he would usually do to win over the pretty dames, but instead Bucky stood there with his cigarette hanging out of his lips like a stunned mullet until the car was out of view.

Holy hell.

That dame was an absolute firecracker.

He and Steve’d always had the same taste in girls ever since they first thought to look, but whenever a girl they both fancied chose Bucky (as they always did), Steve never complained a thing. Bucky had pressed once, and Steve swore up and down that he couldn’t be jealous of a girl finding Bucky so handsome and strong because it was nothing but the truth and that it didn’t bother him none. That he was just happy his friend was happy.

Bucky knew now that that was absolute rot and Steve was a filthy liar. Watching a dame he fancied and knowing she had chosen someone else and not him ached something fierce. Knowing that the fella she chose was Steve and that Steve was damn near the best man in the world and they were so goddamned perfect for each other was fucking _agony_.

With a long sigh he flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground and dropped his head. Lily and Steve _were_ perfect for each other. Unbidden, his mind called up the memory of the two of them kissing. Two heads, one golden, one dark. Two sets of long eyelashes sweeping two sets of smooth, flawless cheeks. Two pairs of lush, soft lips that caressed each other with gentle but determined intent.

He groaned and let his palm drift over the aching bulge in his trousers. Then he turned to brace himself against the wall and unzipped. Here, alone and hidden in the dark, Bucky could be honest with himself, could let his thoughts dwell on the forbidden. He _wanted_ , wanted so badly to be the one to be kissing Steve, touching and rubbing all up and down that small body that housed such a big soul. He wanted to be the one kissing Lily, tasting her sweetness, hearing her moan for him as he worked her pliant. He wanted to be there, watch them kiss and touch _each other_ , show Steve where to put his hands on Lily’s gorgeous body, tell Lily what to do to make his Stevie scream. He wanted them to touch _him_ , have Steve kiss _him_ , have Lily smile that crooked smirk and… and…

Bucky came with a silent shudder, his spend pulsing against the brickwork, unknown and unnoticed by a single soul save him.

And as the lust cleared, he realised that he had found yet another way to hate himself.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

In the downstairs foyer of their apartment building, Steve gripped the tenant’s shared telephone receiver in a shaking hand and waited for the connection to be made to the number Lily gave him the night before. He hoped he wasn’t calling too early but even with his probably-tequila-related headache he had been itching since dawn and he couldn’t wait any longer. With a click, the line connected.

“Yes?” a stern male voice said.

“Um, good morning,” Steve began, praying he had given the right number. “My name is Steve Rogers and I was hoping to speak to-,”

“Mistress is currently unavailable due to unexpected circumstances. However, I have been given instructions to enquire if you would be willing to share a late supper with her following her scheduled performance this evening?”

“Uh, sure, yeah, that would be fine,”

“Details will be provided to you as soon as possible. Good morning.”

_Click._

Dumbstruck at the strange conversation, Steve stared at the telephone receiver long enough for the exchange operator to remind him to end the connection and free up the party line. Returning the handset to the cradle, Steve remembered Lily’s warning about the unknown danger of exposing the fact they were soulmates and wondered if the distinct lack of privacy on a party phone line was the reason for the other man’s brevity and lack of detail. If so, he could hardly fault the man. If the possibility of exposing their soulmate status was something that _Lily_ thought was dangerous, she who walked outnumbered into a gunfight with a smile, then Steve was rather inclined to agree.

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

**CONGRATULATIONS**

_Steven G Rogers and James B Barnes_

**_You have won Second Prize in the Dormer’s Academy Annual Faire Lottery_ **

**_Included in your prize:_ **

_Dinner for four (4) at a private table at the Bullion Hotel, East Village_

_Four (4) VIP tickets to a stage concert at the Jubilation Arts Gallery, featuring Lily Evergreen_

_VIP travel arrangements including driver and automotive escort for the evening_

_Four (4) keepsakes provided by Florentine Jewellers_

_Four (4) surprise gifts provided by Stark Industries_

**_Congratulations again and thank you for supporting Dormer’s Academy_ **

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

“Well, if you were after proof that Lily’s a spy, I’d say we just got it,” Bucky snickered, running his fingertip across the gold embossed lettering on their ‘prize’ certificate. “I guess this answers my question of how you’re meant to see her while at the same time keeping your connection a secret.”

The ‘lottery prize’ had been hand delivered an hour after Steve’s phone call by a man in a tailored black suit that looked a lot like the man who had been yelling at Lily to get in the car the day before. The man, who did not appear in any way inclined towards conversation, handed Steve the envelope, several small boxes and two garment bags that contained brand-new modestly fashionable suits for him and Bucky. He wasn’t at all surprised to discover the suits were an impeccable fit.

“You inviting Sally-Anne?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded. “It’d be pretty cruel not to. What about you?”

“Got a couple options,” Bucky gave a wolfish grin and Steve snickered and shook his head. Of course Bucky had options, girls practically fought each other to get a place on his arm on a regular night. Add in Lily’s VIP plans for the evening and Bucky’s date would be surer than a sunrise.

“Although,” Bucky began. “If this is what your girl gives you as second prize, I gotta wonder what first prize would be like…”

Steve elbowed him hard in the gut and didn’t feel even the slightest bit bad about it.

“Jerk.”

 

 ^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Tucked away high up on a discreet balcony, Darcy – no, _Lily_ was her name now, she had to be careful – sipped her pre-show Margarita and spied on the audience who had gathered to see her performance that night. Well, she spied on one section of the audience, anyway. Her four special guests were reasonably relaxed, or as relaxed as she could get them in the circumstances, and were watching the pre-show musicians from the comfort of their private table at the first section in front of the stage. Not front-and-centre –that would be too obvious – but brilliant seats nonetheless. She hoped they would enjoy them.

Steve – her _soulmate_ , how ridiculous was that? – and Bucky looked specially drool-worthy in their new suits. Her eye for detail hadn’t let her down and she congratulated herself. Her time here in the first half of the 20th century had taught her just how much she appreciated the sight of a pretty boy in a sharp looking suit and she figured it was _almost_ worth the torture of wearing stupid stockings and heels every day.

She sighed and took another sip, feeling again the twist in the hollow of her chest that came whenever she thought too long about her circumstances. She should not be here. She shouldn’t be pretending to be some vapid starlet in 1941, where she had to get a bloody escort every time she wanted to go out after six pm, where she couldn’t even get a decent drink at a pub without raising eyebrows because “ladies” were “proper”. Where women who had brains and opinions were told to shut up and go breed, to be content with practically any man who’ll trap them into a marriage and be pleased if their husbands didn’t beat them. Where she couldn’t even wear _pants_ during the day unless she was in Stark’s workshop because of the _scandal_.

She missed home. She missed Jane. She missed Erik and Thor, even though he had only barely been around anyway. She missed their shitty little flat in London, modern medicine and decent fucking food. Hell, she even missed _Tony Stark_ , despite only knowing him for a couple weeks before “The Incident”. Meeting Howard Stark and working with him over the past few years had put a lot of Tony’s much-publicised issues into perspective.

Not that she was ungrateful or anything. As much as they could butt heads, Howard had been the first real ally she’d found when she’d been brought here and it was only the fact he believed her ridiculous story that she wasn’t dead in a piss-soaked ally somewhere in Lower Manhattan. He’d kept her secrets, given her a place to stay, a new identity, a job in his private workshop. He _loved_ that a natural inclination and her time with Jane had taught her more than the basics about strange machines that go ‘beep’. And when the time came, he used that new identity to introduce her to the SSR and subtly helped her gain the influence she needed to get certain important jobs done. Like helping Peggy Carter save Abraham Erskine in Europe in the late 30s, for one, and stopping the many, _many_ subsequent assassination attempts following that. So yes, Darcy had a very thorough appreciation for Howard Stark’s intelligence, foresight and generosity. His boozy, gropey, innuendo filled down-time was best avoided however, if she was to abstain from setting something on fire. Possibly Howard.

Below her Bucky laughed out loud, his handsome face full of joy. His blonde-and-buxom date was vapid and giggling and leaning in to him with wide-eyed, nauseous infatuation as though Bucky was the King of Asgard. Which, you know, Darcy knew he wasn’t. However Bucky’s laugh had made Steve smile and _that_ made _her_ smile. God. Soulmates or not, what was she even _doing_?

If Howard Stark had been Darcy’s first ally after The Incident, Sarah Rogers had been her first friend. They met at the hospital where Sarah worked when Darcy had needed to refill Howard’s workshop emergency first aid kit _again_ and the older woman adopted her like a lost duckling. Darcy, desperate for comfort and friendship, latched on for all she was worth and soon every day she was sneaking in to the hospital to share Sarah’s lunch hour. She refused to see Sarah at her home though, because she wasn’t an idiot and she knew who Sarah Rogers’ son would become and no, thank you very much, she would be avoiding _that_ particular bundle of problems. Butterfly effect and all that, knowing _her_ luck she’d mess up and Steve would end up as a green grocer in Ohio or something instead of the delicious, Nazi-ass-kicking personification of Truth, Justice and the American Way he was destined to become.

Then Sarah Rogers got sick. And Darcy had screamed and howled and spat at the fucking _injustice_ of a woman as good and kind and wonderful as Sarah Rogers dying from something as stupid as Tubercu-fucking-losis, something that could be cleared up with just a few weeks of medication from home. And Sarah, wonderful, wonderful Sarah, who didn’t complain and didn’t cry and didn’t rail against her fate, asked Darcy – _Lily –_ to watch over her boy for her once she was gone and fuck yes, she damned well agreed.

And goddamn the butterfly effect to Hell, she would keep that promise.

And Fate laughed and laughed and laughed at stupid little Darcy Lillian Lewis.

Deciding it was probably time to finish getting ready, she stood up and drained the last of her drink, then signalled to her attendant to fetch her another and take it to her dressing room. She needed the fortification tonight, needed the extra armour that alcohol could temporarily give her regardless of the cost tomorrow. And even though Fate, that heartless bitch, had gifted her with a soulmate that was destined to kill himself via Valkyrie in less than five years, she would do everything within her power to keep Sarah’s promise. For the few years he had left, Steve Rogers would live the best damned life she could give him.


	10. Jubilation Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward!Steve is awkward. Howard is a cad. Bucky thinks its funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Thanks for waiting a couple extra days for this. I had a few hundred miles to drive and my muse was incredibly unhappy about it.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your continued love. You make me feel so freaking amazing.
> 
> Stay gorgeous,  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

The audience were still applauding as she exited the stage with her musicians and dancers, and the adrenaline buzz of another successful performance was high in the air, but even though she appreciated the satisfaction of a good show, Darcy’s mind was elsewhere. The girls shuffled past her with a raft of compliments and teasing innuendos on their way to the larger costume change areas, tittering and giggling together in their sequined show skirts and high heels.

“Marty,” she grabbed her young aide’s attention. “There is a gentleman on table four, Mr Rogers. Please ask - _discreetly_ \- if he would care to join me in my dressing room.”

Marty McNamara’s blonde eyebrows launched off his forehead. There was no wondering why he was surprised – in all her career Lily had never once invited a civilian man backstage. She may as well have been declared a nun for all her lack of post-show revelry. In fact, the only people Lily had _ever_ invited to her private rooms were either Howard, Peggy or other high ranking members of the SSR. Marty, himself an undercover SSR agent just like Vernon, Lily’s driver, knew very well that this mysterious Mr Rogers was _not_ included in their number.

However, Lily was the senior agent here and didn’t owe Junior Agent Marty McNamara any kind of explanation. She waited, calmly meeting his gaze until he realised she wouldn’t be offering him any further insight and he hurried off to catch the guests of table four before they could leave.

Slipping alone into her dressing room, she closed the door behind her and sighed in relief at the sudden quiet. Her touring and PR schedule was brutal, especially when she had to include all her SSR missions in there as well. No wonder her feet ached. What she wouldn’t do for her old jeans and a pair of chucks.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Steve stared open-mouthed at the back of the young blonde man – McNamara, he now knew – as he moved to wait for Steve by the shadows at the side of the stage access door. Bucky, of course, noticed Steve’s distraction and was about to say something that was more than likely a mortifying comment of some sort when his pretty date (Connie? Bonnie?) shrieked and grabbed his arm. Steve used the distraction to hide the slip of paper McNamara gave him in his pocket.

“That’s _Howard Stark!”_ the girl squealed right into Bucky’s ear. Bucky winced.

They all turned to look and sure enough, the famous millionaire was strutting through the gap the crowd cleared for him on a direct path to where they stood next to their table. He wore a cocky grin and a shiny suit that probably cost more than Steve and Bucky earned in a year.

Sally-Anne, who had done a spectacular job of holding it together this entire evening in the face of her shyness and general anxiety, paled. Steve quickly forgot his nervousness regarding McNamara’s message and pat Sally-Anne’s hand in understanding. Putting aside his fine new suit and her new shiny jewellery (apparently from Florentine’s jewellers), they were both miles out of place and they knew it. It was a long way from Flatbush to the Upper West side.

“Ah, the prize winners, there you are!” boomed Stark. From nowhere a man appeared to pass Stark what Steve now recognised as a champagne glass, thanks to their earlier fancy dinner at the Bullion. Apparently champagne, even though it was technically wine, couldn’t be drunk from a regular wine glass and needed a fancy glass style all of its own. He remembered Lily’s tiny tequila cups with a smile. There was nothing fancy about their ever so slightly dented tin construction. He’d put them on display on their kitchen window sill.

Stark sloshed the champagne in his glass and motioned forward another two men, both of whom balanced a large box under each arm. “Courtesy of Stark Industries, congratulations.” Stark’s gaze swept their quartet and his eyes narrowed on Bucky’s date who was staring at him with open-mouthed, undisguised awe. His moustache twitched. “Although I do have a particular prize waiting to be won back at my hotel, too, that is in no way related to Dormer’s Academy, and let me tell you, it is just ripe for one particular soon-to-be winner.”

Without even a breath of hesitation, Connie/Bonnie dropped Bucky’s arm and attached herself to Stark who greeted her with a smirk. One of the millionaire’s hands in the small of her back had Stark leading the girl formerly known as Bucky’s date away from the table, and from above her head Stark threw Bucky a wink that contained not a single ounce of apology.

Steve felt his face flush with indignation for his friend. If it hadn’t been for Steve not wanting to cause a scene and embarrass Sally-Anne, Steve would have-

“Ouch,” laughed Bucky. He looked more amused than hurt. “I guess I’m not as prime as an eccentric genius millionaire,”

“That was low,” growled Steve.

“Ah don’ worry ‘bout it, happens all the time,” drawled one of the men still holding their prize boxes. “Ain’t never seen a gal turn him down yet.”

Bucky laughed again and clapped Steve’s shoulder. “Reckon you’re more cut up about it than I am, pal. Don’t matter a thing.”

A flash of reflected light caught Steve’s attention towards where McNamara still waited for him. Bucky saw it too.

“How about I take Sally-Anne home? You can follow later,” his friend suggested. “Or you know… in the morning,”

Bucky dodged the foot Steve swept towards his ankle.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

It was probably just the dust and the damp air of backstage that had Steve’s breath sawing a little in his lungs. He followed McNamara through several twists and turns of low-ceiling darkened passages until they stopped outside a door decorated with a familiar name in gold letters. His guide rapped his knuckles on the wood, then twisted the handle to open it a fraction.

“Miss Evergreen, Mr Rogers to see you,”

“Send him in then leave us, Marty,”

With a final up and down glance that was more a quiet warning than anything, Marty McNamara nodded at Steve then left. Steve stared at the crack in the doorway and smoothed his hair. He could do this. It was just Lily, right? He had sat with her before without catastrophe. Once. When he was tipsy. If he didn’t count Bucky’s intrusion.

Steve opened the door and entered Lily’s room and was immediately flooded by the scent of lavender and vanilla and something he didn’t know the name of but had already begun to associate with his soulmate. The lights in the room were lowered but not dim enough to impair his vision so when Lily rose from her seat on a stool in front of her illuminated vanity, Steve’s practiced greeting caught in his throat. It didn’t go unnoticed but Lily didn’t comment.

“Steve,” Lily smiled. “It’s good to see you,”

She wasn’t wearing her stage gown, the stunning emerald and silver one Steve watched her perform in. That gown had a slit high up her thigh and hugged her figure so tight to the point where Steve had sometimes missed entire songs because he was focusing too hard. And then when she danced in it, _hot dog_ , no one could blame him for being distracted. He didn’t know why he’d thought she’d still be wearing the gown now but he certainly wasn’t expecting her to _not_ be wearing it either.

Lily had in fact replaced her stage dress with a peach coloured satin robe cinched at her waist in a way that accentuated the exaggerated hourglass of her figure and she’d swapped the emerald high heels she danced in for a much lower pair of heeled slippers. Although her body was technically covered, the relaxed nature of her attire had Steve sweating. It was familiar, casual and entirely intimate. The way one would dress in front of a lover. His tie felt very tight around his neck and he had to suppress the urge to fidget.

“Please come in, sit down, take a load off,”

Steve unbuttoned his jacket and perched on the edge of the loveseat Lily indicated then closed his eyes to try and regain his bearings. Instead he heard the whisper of her satin robe as she crossed the room towards him and it only heightened his awareness of her and her state of undress. He opened his eyes in time to see Lily lean down and press a quick kiss to his cheek that burned like a cattle brand and press a champagne glass into his hand.

“ _Relax_ , Steve. I won’t bite, I promise.”

“Are you sure about that?” he tried to joke. Lily’s eyes darkened.

“I only bite when it’s requested,”

He choked on his drink and she laughed and somehow he felt better. With any other woman Steve would have been mortified to be teased and laughed at like this but Lily didn’t make him feel stupid or as though he was lesser. Lily laughed _with_ him, not _at_ him, like she too was an imperfect creature and displaying their flaws brought them closer together rather than pushing them apart. It was simultaneously both the most comfortable and the most _un_ comfortable feeling in the world.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” Lily asked in her smoky, cultured voice. She sat down across from him on her vanity stool with a drink of her own and crossed her legs at the knee. Steve looked up to avoid staring at the length of her legs that the movement exposed.

“Ah, yes. It was, um, very pleasant. Except for Howard Stark stealing Bucky’s date, that is.”

Lily laughed out loud and he smiled with her. He loved her laugh. It was genuine and loud and not at all like the affected titters of Bucky’s many admirers. He could listen to it all day.

“What a cad, cutting poor Bucky’s lunch like that. I can have a word with Howard if you want?”

He shook his head at the revelation that not only did Lily know _Howard Stark_ well enough to refer to him by only his first name but that she’d willingly go up against the millionaire if Steve gave the word. Something fierce bloomed in his chest.

“I doubt it’s necessary. Bucky reckoned it was more funny than upsetting.”

Lily hummed and let it drop. Steve cleared his throat, trying to shift the pond full of frogs that had taken up residence.

“You were really something tonight, Lily,” he croaked out. “I mean, not that you aren’t great all the time. Just that I usually hear you on the radio. It was… it was real special.”

Lifting his gaze to her face Steve saw she was smiling again, the wide one that reached her eyes and he felt a puff of pride. _He’d_ done that, made her smile like that. With words and all. He drank it in.

“I have a request,” Lily said after a moment. “More of a favour,”

“Anything,” he replied a little too quick to be smooth.

She spun on her stool and removed a sketchbook and a packet of pencils from her vanity drawer then turned back and extended the items to him. He accepted, a little confused, while she continued.

“Petey told me how impressed he was with your work.”

“Petey? Oh you mean Mr Reiser?” Steve felt a flush beginning to climb up his neck. Objectively he knew that Lily knew about the art work he’d done for the Dodgers – after all she was the one who had recommended him in the first place! – but openly talking with her about how the baseballer’s girl had posed in front of him for hours was nothing short of excruciating.

She nodded, smiling, and tipped her chin to the sketchbook and pencils now in his hand.

“Would you draw me?”

“Like _that?”_ he squeaked.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Words left him, but he nodded until she was confident in his agreement. He felt the need to pinch his arm. Surely he’d had dreams like this, hadn’t he?

“How do you want me?” Lily asked in her usual calm voice as though she had no idea of the electric current lighting up his entire body and making his fingers twitch.

He stumbled for a pencil within the packet, not looking at her. “Uh, just where you are is fine?”

His tone made her eyebrow lift. She waited for him to look up and then held his gaze and the corner of her lips rose in a tiny smirk as her nimble fingers picked open the knotted belt at her waist. Still on her stool, with her legs crossed at the knee, she leaned back and put her elbows behind her on her vanity. The movement shifted the fabric of her now unbound robe and the sides slipped away to expose a wide column down the centre of her torso. He could now see from the pale length of her neck all the way down to the middle of her chest between the swells of her black satin brassiere and further down to the little dip of her belly button. Her lifted knees hid most of her lower stomach and underwear but he could see the black straps of her garters as they striped the curve of her thigh and her stockings as they ran down her calves and her delicate ankles to where her toes were hidden in their slippers.

Then, just when he thought his brain would implode with the pressure of it all, Steve caught sight of a section of looping black script just peeking out from the edge of the robe beneath her left breast. It was his handwriting, his Words marking her, claiming this stunning perfection of God’s creation as _his_.

“ _Hngh_ ,”

“Stevie? Are you alright?”

“Mmhmm,”

“You can say no if you want to, Steve. No one is forcing you to do anything you don’t want to.”

That cleared his head, the thought that if he didn’t stop acting like a gorilla she would end whatever it was that was happening. He met her eyes and swallowed.

“I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine,”

She beamed at him then, obviously pleased he had remembered her words from the night before. Lord, was that just yesterday?

He flicked open the sketchbook and readied his pencil.

“Alright, then.”

 


	11. Phase Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pearl Harbor happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is coming hot on the heels of the last one, so don't forget to check if you're not sure which one you're up to.
> 
> Also, I dedicate this chapter to all the friends who show their love through name calling and soft violence.
> 
> As always, thank you for the love. You really know how to show a gal a good time!
> 
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

Winter 1941 hit America hard. News of the attack on Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into the War left the people in shock, both scared and outraged in equal measure. The holiday festivities grew sour with a distinct flavour of unspoken desperation as though the country knew it was on the cusp of something truly terrible now that the awful things in the newspapers weren’t just happening to other countries. Of course no-one knew it as well as Darcy did. Most of the atrocities wouldn’t even be uncovered for years yet and it was still the worst thing to have ever happened to humanity. And if she had already been ever-so-slightly hoarding certain items she knew would soon be rationed, well, no one could blame her. Mama needed her nice coffee.

“You knew this was coming. The Japanese, Pearl Harbor. The US joining the war,”

Darcy looked up from the newspaper she was reading at her desk. Howard was standing in the entrance to his Mansion’s lab-slash-office – _their_ lab-slash-office, really – with his arms crossed over his chest and a determined expression on his face. It was the first time they’d seen each other in months because Lily had toured the UK and Howard had been busy on the East Coast researching for what Darcy knew would soon become the Vita Ray technology.

There was no point mincing words. “Yep,”

“And you didn’t tell anyone? Didn’t tell _me?_ ”

“You know I can’t, Howie, just like you know _why_ I can’t,” she replied with a sigh, putting her paper down. “It’s my burden to carry. Trust me, sunshine, you don’t _want_ to know.”

She stood up and rounded the desks to approach Howard. His scowl deepened but his arms opened and he enveloped her in a stiff hug. He pat her on the back a few times then awkwardly twisted away like she had cooties and Darcy had to stop herself from laughing. Howard Stark wasn’t a man for physical affection but Darcy had worn him down over the years they’d been friends. Now she occasionally got a squeeze on the arm or in rare times like now, an awkward hug. More likely though, Howard would throw money at her problems until they went away and ignore any mention of sentimentality.

“Ugh, enough. You smell like someone who’s not a millionaire,” Howard wrinkled his nose.

“I’ve been busy with a little project for Peg, which by the way I need you to look at. And I smell exactly like you do when you’ve been in the workshop for three days straight.”

Howard dropped into Darcy’s desk chair and propped his feet up on her desk, squashing the papers beneath. He pointed at her.

“No, see that’s a lie. Even after three days I still smell like money. Ask my lady friends, they’ll all tell you. I’m pretty sure some of them think they can hook up a line of credit straight from my veins.”

Darcy snorted. She shoved Howard’s feet off her desk then leaned on it. Howard had his serious face on, which meant she should probably pay close attention. And have a fire blanket handy.

“There must be something I can _do_. You shouldn’t have to bear this alone,” the millionaire pouted. Not that he would ever have admitted it.

“I’m hardly alone, you’ve been there since the very beginning. None of this would have been possible without you.”

Howard sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“It’s just… You’re my…” He looked up with a strangely vulnerable expression. “You’re my _friend_ , Lily. And I think you might be my only one.”

Her heart melted into a puddle of goo at the unexpected admission and all Darcy wanted to do was wrap him up in a giant fluffy blanket and cuddle him and feed him tea and chocolates until all the other kids decided to play nice and share their toys. However, she was well aware that this was _Howard Stark_ with her so instead she slipped off the desk and onto Howard’s lap. Ignoring his indignant protest, she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.

“You’re my friend too, sunshine. And I think we should get matching bracelets and pet kittens and hold hands and skip under rainbo- ,”

With a groan of frustration Howard shoved a laughing Darcy off his lap. She landed on her butt on the floor, still giggling.

“You’re a pain in the arse, you know that, kid?”

“You’re the one who tried to have _feelings_ everywhere. Jesus, Howie, keep that shit in your pants.”

He pulled her up to her feet again and they resumed their former positions on the chair and against the desk like nothing had happened and no heartfelt declarations had been made. _Emotions_ , ugh. Ain’t no one got time for that, as declared the wisdom of Howard Anthony Walter Stark.

“So this is the part where you confirm for me that the attack on Pearl Harbor was your supposedly hypothetical trigger for your Phase Two plans?”

“Yep,” she nodded. “I’ve got a couple loose ends to tie up in Brooklyn, then I’m heading out direct for London. Need to get a jump start on a few things.”

“Brooklyn. You’re talking about Sarah’s boy. You don’t think you’ve done enough for him? Sarah’s been dead for nearly three years now.”

Darcy let that sink in. If Sarah had been gone for nearly three years, then Darcy had been here for at least three and a bit. The possibility that Jane or Tony or someone from her century was coming for her grew fainter each day, and after so long it just seemed too far-fetched to think a rescue would be on the cards at all. But maybe that was okay, maybe it didn’t matter that she was never going home again. Perhaps helping the allies win the war was the reason she’d been brought here in the first place. Could that be why Fate gave her a soulmate that wasn’t going to see the other side of 1945? Was she going to fall in the course of the war like Steve? Would she join him on the rolls of dead servicemen and women, both their life’s work combined in the victory of the Allies over the Axis powers?

Howard nudged her back from her daydreaming, expecting a reply.

“Sarah was my friend and she died and I made a promise,” she explained, deliberately neglecting yet again to mention to Howard that Steve Rogers was also her soulmate. “So no, I haven’t done enough.”

The genius inventor hummed. “I’ve seen him, you know. Skinny. Not too bad looking. Short though.”

“You really want to throw stones about his height from _your_ vertically challenged glass house?”

Howard rolled his wrist in an impatient ‘go on’ movement and Darcy sighed.

“I need to discuss the takeover of his rent from his landlord, organise regular health checks. Hire a French tutor so he doesn’t get too bored when he’s not in art classes. Fake a scholarship to said French and art classes. Maybe Italian if I’m away for too long.”

“Still in secret then?”

“Yeah. You know how weird people can get with money.”

Howard nodded, his thoughts already miles ahead.

“You need me to set up a meeting with Creedy before you go? I could send Jarvis with you.”

“Nah, I’ll surprise him. He loves it when I surprise him.” Darcy changed tack. “Hey, you want to fly me to London? We can get drunk in public again and get thrown out of a respectable establishment just like old times, yeah?”

“Sure thing, cookie. Maybe we can convince Peg to join in, give her an opportunity to roll her eyes at her Yankee barbarians.”

She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her friend’s forehead and ignored said friend grimacing and wiping his head.

“You’re the best, Howie. My _best friend_ ,” she sang.

“Oh get lost, you brat,”

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

_“Is it done?”_

_“I think so. Have a look, if you like.”_

_“Steve, it’s gorgeous.”_

_“ **You’re** gorgeous, Lily.”_

_“I’d really like to kiss you now.”_

_“I’d really like that too.”_

 

Steve could feel the goofy grin on his face but there was no shifting it. He gently folded up the sketch, taking care with its well-worn creases, and put it away back in his wallet. Even though he had pages and pages of sketches of Lily, this one was by far his favourite. He could remember every detail of that night as clear as if it had been yesterday. The dim light of her dressing room. The lavender of her perfume. The satin of her gown. The velvet of her lips.

“You’re doing it again,”

His grin didn’t waver as he looked over to Bucky who was reading a book at the other end of the couch. He shrugged, not at all apologetic.

“Can’t blame me. She’s perfect,”

Bucky snorted and went back to his reading. “Noticed the cupboards are looking full. She send another box of groceries?”

That reminder was enough to kill his grin. It shifted straight into a frown.

“Yeah. I don’t much like it, not when we owe her so much already. Feels like charity.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t bother looking at him.

“She probably feels guilty for bein’ away so much. Just let her do it, Steve, if it makes her happy.”

He looked down at the new silver watch on his wrist. Bucky’s wrist carried a similar one. It really did seem like buying gifts made Lily happy because she did it so often. Things they needed or things she’d seen and thought he might like. She would always buy two as well, never forgetting Bucky or his own particular style. Sometimes the gifts were expensive, like the watches, and other times they were little and amusing like the pair of wind up speedboats she’d bought them the last time she went through Florida. Steve and Bucky had raced the boats at the lake at Prospect Park like the mature adults they were. They’d attracted a flock of spectators and eventually someone even started a pool. It had been a real blast.

The grin crept back on his face.

A cushion whacked into the side of his head.

“Fuck’s sake, Rogers, you’re hopeless.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Bucky raced down the tenement stairs in pursuit of their landlord.

“Mister Holtstein!” he called out, waving his folded newspaper and jumping down the last few steps.

His landlord stopped just shy of the outer door and turned. Upon seeing a red-faced and huffing Bucky, Holtstein’s annoyed frown shifted into carefully placed neutrality.

“Yes, Mister Barnes? What is it? I am quite busy today,”

Bucky ducked his head and ran his tongue over his teeth. His notorious ‘charm’ had got him and Stevie out of more than a few misadventures and he was hoping today would be another one. When he lifted his face again, his expression was schooled into what Steve called his _gold-hearted scallywag_ look, with earnest bright eyes and a cheeky half grin. With women the scallywag look was no match for Steve’s _aww shucks, ma’am_ but it was fairly even when it came to men.

“Mister Holtstein, you know how good Steve and I have been the whole time we’ve been here, never making no fuss or causing a bother. Not feeding you a line, Sir, just that Stevie’s been real laid up and I- ,”

Mr Holtstein held up a hand to interrupt. “Mister Barnes, spare me the details. Get the rent to me as soon as you can, you hear me? Two weeks the latest.”

Stammering his stunned agreement, Bucky waved goodbye to Mr Holtstein and made his way back up to Steve, who really was laid up with yet another cold. He shook his head as he climbed the stairs, going much slower than he’d been on the way down. The other tenants who complained about Mr Holtstein were obviously pulling his leg, the man was practically charitable. Bad-tempered, yes, but easy enough.

He couldn’t wait to tell Steve.


	12. Holly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely friends, this is what you do to me! My muse is out of control!
> 
> Updated for your reading pleasure
> 
> All my love  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

 

#  1942 - summer

 

_Dear Steve_

_So it turns out I’m being sent overseas and I’ll be jumping around a lot._

_My schedule is going to be pretty unstable for a while. No, I can’t tell you more._

_And because you’re the only person I really trust, I’m leaving you my baby._

_Her name is Holly and you’re going to love her. I know you’ll treat her right._

_She’s with Nathaniel Guthrie. I said you’d be by tomorrow to pick her up._

_Thanks so much, sweetheart_

_Lily_

 

 

Steve stared at the note, not daring to touch it, then stared at Bucky. Shocked didn’t even begin to cover it.

“A baby?” he whispered, just in case speaking at normal volume made this nightmare come true.

Bucky was paler than Steve had ever seen him. Then as he watched, Bucky’s face began to turn pink then a bright red. He flicked his fingers towards the paper.

“Who the hell does this dame think she is? Did you know she had a baby? Who goes around dumping babies on people!”

Shaking his head, Steve went over the note again. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t give up any more information than it had the last dozen times he’d read it.

“Doesn’t sound like she had a lot of choice, Buck. And… and I guess I am her soulmate.”

“But not the father,” Bucky snapped. His eyes widened in horror as he realised what he’d said but it was too late.

Steve felt the air rush out of him like he’d been stabbed in the chest. He stumbled forward and grabbed the kitchen table with both hands, letting his head drop as he leaned over it. Bucky was right. Lily deemed him good enough to raise her child but not good enough to create it in the first place. He was a fool to think he could ever be anything other than a placeholder for a dame like Lily. Of course she wouldn’t want someone like _him_ , someone small and sickly and weak, someone who the doctors agreed would probably never hit thirty, someone who couldn’t hold down a proper job for longer than it took for the next illness to sweep the block. Of course she would choose someone else, someone _strong_ , someone _capable_ to father her child. Someone who was her equal. Not like him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- ,”

“Yeah, you did, Buck.”

“Shit.”

Bucky stomped out of the kitchen and Steve could hear him rummaging around, swearing and kicking the furniture. Part of him wanted to join in, to curse and throw things and wail about the unfairness of it all. A baby. A _baby_. Steve and Bucky could barely keep their own heads above water most days and now they were going to have to raise a _child_? And just who _was_ the father, anyway? Was it this Guthrie fella?

A half-filled mug slammed down on the table next to him and Steve recognised the smell of Bucky’s cheap whiskey. He ignored it.

“Pretty sure now’s a good time to get cockeyed,” Buck snorted, throwing back his own drink. “Considerin’ we’re gonna have a damn _kid_ running around the place soon.”

“Buck…”

“What, you think I don’t know you well enough to see you’d never say no? Course you’re going to do it, pick up this kid, raise it as your own.”

 _Even though it’s not_.

The words went unspoken, unacknowledged, but they sat heavy in the silence.

 _Even though your soulmate slept with another man_.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Holly.

A little girl.

Steve smiled to himself as he looked out the trolley window. He was on his way across town to Nathaniel Guthrie’s workshop, following the instructions Lily had left him. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before but it didn’t seem to matter much really. At some point in the very early hours of that morning Steve had stumbled across some manner of insight. He, Steven Grant Rogers, would be caring for a baby, raising her as though she were his own, teaching her and guiding her and loving her with all his heart.

He honestly never expected he would be given that chance.

When he was born, the doctors had warned his mother that Steve wouldn’t survive infancy. His heart was too weak, his body too small, his bones too frail. Then they warned her he wouldn’t survive childhood. Each winter Sarah Rogers prepared for the worst and prayed for the best and somehow Steve struggled through illness after yet another illness. His Ma said every year she had him was a gift.

So as he grew up, unlike other children who dreamed of marriage and families and happily ever after, Steve had never really given a lot of thought to his adult future. Surviving was enough.

And then there was Lily.

And now there was Holly.

And even though Steve would never be Holly’s true father, he would do his damned best to love her with everything he had, to give her every advantage he could scrape together for her. Holly, his beautiful soulmate’s daughter, would be brought up in kindness and faith and love. And every year they had together would be a gift.

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

Steve Rogers was an idiot.

Steve Rogers was a big dumb idiot with a big dumb heart and a big damned problem saying no.

And Bucky Barnes was drunk at one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon.

 

Shit.

 

Bucky stumbled to his feet and dumped the rest of his chipped mugful of whiskey down the sink. He needed to dry out. Steve would be home soon.

 _With_ _the baby_.

His nostrils flared and he looked mournfully at the amber fluid swirling the drain. He shook his head to clear it.

No.

For nearly twenty years, Bucky Barnes had always backed Steve Rogers’ play. No matter what, Bucky _always_ had Steve’s back. And damnit, he wasn’t about to stop now.

Time for a cold shower and fresh shirt and a fresh damned attitude.

He and Steve were together and that’s what was important. As long as they were together, they could handle anything.

Bucky remembered his youngest siblings and the crying and the laundry and the tantrums and he winced.

_God damn it, Stevie._

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

Steve was late.

He was due home with the baby mid-afternoon and now it was nearly six o’clock and it was getting dark out. Bucky’d had plenty of time to sober up, plenty of time for the fear to really, truly settle in his guts. He’d gone to the store and bought some fresh milk that probably cost more than the actual cow, then come home and cleaned up the apartment as best he could. He’d emptied out one of the drawers in the bedroom and padded it with blankets for the baby to sleep in. They didn’t know how old the baby was, so they didn’t really know if it would sleep in the drawer like Bucky’s sisters had done when they were real little or if Holly would sleep in the bed with Steve but either way they’d be prepared. Well, prepared for sleeping arrangements. Hardly fucking prepared at all for anything else.

Bucky tried to distract himself with the wireless, settling it on a volume much lower than usual. They’d have to get used to that too, what with not wanting to wake the baby and all. Bing Crosby’s croon trickled from the speaker.

_You must have been a beautiful baby…_

_You must have been a wonderful child…_

 

He snapped the radio off again and slumped into his chair, his hands covering his face. What the hell was Steve even thinking? Of course Bucky knew the answer to that already, same as always. Steve _wasn’t_ thinking. He _never_ thought. He just _did_. He just trusted his big damned heart and jumped in and composed fucking sonnets about ‘the right thing to do’ and the whole time Bucky was having heart attacks just trying to get the fool through another week. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

The apartment door slammed open and a flushed Steve barrelled inside. Bucky was up and out of his seat before he even realised who was there. Or who _wasn’t_.

“Bucky! Bucky, come on!” Steve motioned from the doorway, waving his hand.

“What’s going on?” Bucky demanded, grabbing his jacket. “Where’s Holly?”

“I gotta show ya!”

Steve latched on to Bucky’s arm and dragged him down the three flights of stairs out of their apartment, babbling the whole time about Guthrie and Holly and him learning something and dang it, he was a _natural_ , Nate said so, and it’s okay, he’s rushing the legal stuff and Lily’s organising an account for everything so they’d never have to pay a dime and Bucky it was just _swell_ …

At the bottom of the steps to their building, Steve shunted Bucky forward so fast he almost tripped into the gutter. Bucky was ready to snap something about Steve acting so fucking ridiculous when he caught sight of the beaming grin that split his best pal’s face in two. If Steve could smile any bigger, hell, he’d light up the sky better than a spotlight and the Coast Guard could use him for Search and Rescues.

“Buck, it’s _Holly!_ ”

“Where?”

“ _Right there_!”

Bucky scrubbed his hand across his jaw and stared down at his best friend, trying to accept he’d finally lost the last of his marbles. Then he paid attention to where Steve was gesturing at the edge of the street.

Resting proud and pretty on her stand was the most beautiful creation Bucky had ever seen. Sleek and red and shining steel, she was fucking _gorgeous_. And yeah, Bucky sure as hell recognised her from the drooled over magazines in the breakroom at the docks or even the badly-used copies of _Esquire_ at his gym. _Every_ hot blooded guy wanted her, Bucky included.

Steve was pointing at a 1939 Harley Davidson EL, the finest damned motorcycle ever built and certainly the first one to be seen around these parts. A name was painted in looping white script just beneath her badge on the crimson fuel tank.

_Holly_

 

Jesus Christ.

 

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from inside him and Bucky tried to keep it in, tried to stop himself cackling like a mad fool out in the street where anyone could come along and commit him, but it slipped out between his teeth and suddenly he couldn’t stop. Hooting and crowing hard enough to turn himself inside out, Bucky collapsed on the cold sidewalk and just let himself go. All the pent up anger and frustration and fear and worry burst out of him in desperate wails and suddenly Bucky didn’t know if he was laughing or crying or both. Steve, his stupid face still wearing that shit eating grin, lowered himself down next to him and pat him on the knee.

“Don’t reckon Holly’ll fit in the drawer, Buck,” the asshole smirked.

“Fuck… you… Rogers,”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It kind of bugged me how in the movie suddenly Steve knew how to ride a motorbike, like, expertly and through enemy fire. Where did he learn to ride like that???
> 
> Answer: Darcy.


	13. Princess of New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets news from Europe. Bucky gets a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this chapter gave me a hard time! Fecking bastard just wouldn't come together. I think I've wrestled it into submission now though.
> 
> Let me know what you think, sweethearts.
> 
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As no further gifts or notes had arrived in the six months following Holly’s dramatic arrival, Steve didn’t need to be a clairvoyant to know the letter in his hand wasn’t going to be good news. It had no stamp on it and had been hand delivered by the same man who had given him the tickets to their ‘prize’ performance the previous year, and even though the messenger was just as silent as last time there was pity in his eyes and he wasted no time in disappearing after his delivery. The envelope was filthy and worn and although _Steven G Rogers_ was written in a thin, crooked version of his Lily’s familiar handwriting, the address was in a stranger’s blocky capitals as if Lily hadn’t the strength to finish the job. He tried to fight down the panic but it lingered heavy and damp on his skin like a wash of ocean salt. It had been too long. She was in Europe, in the middle of the danger, putting herself at risk. She hadn’t told them as much but Steve wasn’t an idiot. She was a government spy and there was a war and she said she had to go overseas and couldn’t contact them regularly. What else would that possibly mean?

He sat staring at the envelope, not noticing when the light from the little kitchen window deepened into gold and orange. It wasn’t a telegram and that fact alone saved his sanity enough to stop the scream coiling in his throat. He had been on the tenement stairwell one day when a telegram came for one of the families on the second floor. The woman’s anguished wails had echoed for hours but no one, not even Mr Holtstein or the cantankerous old man on the first floor had gone to tell her to be quiet. Everyone knew what a telegram meant.

Bucky’s hand fell heavy on his shoulder and it startled him enough to jump. He hadn’t even heard Bucky come home.

“You gonna open it?”

He nodded and gently pried open the envelope to extract a single sheet of dirty paper half covered in that same weak scrawl. At the very bottom right corner in the place where a person writing would have rested their hand were several dark stains that were not ink.

 

_Stevie_

_It’s been a while, I know. I’m sorry. Again. Also, there’s nothing here to send as a gift except mud and used shells. Some soulmate huh? You really hit the jackpot. I still can’t even tell you where I am or what I’m doing, just that I’m alive and I miss you. I miss New York. I miss Bucky’s laugh. I hope he hasn’t enlisted. Please, hold out as long as you both can. Sherman could not have said it better when he said that war is hell. Please don’t make me imagine you in such a place, my heart is broken enough as it is._

_Tell me, how is your art? Did you find time to paint the Bridge like you wanted? Perhaps you_

 

Here the letter cut off and Lily’s handwriting was replaced by the masculine block from the envelope.

_SPECIAL AGENT LILY EVERGREEN_

_INJURED IN LINE OF DUTY: NOV 1942_

_REMOVED TO LONDON FOR TREATMENT_

 

There was no name of Lily’s superior officer, just an undecipherable squiggle of a signature and a vague US military stamp that listed an unnamed “special division”. The letter offered no further information.

Despite the dull roaring in his ears, Steve knew two things right away.

One, he knew that Lily had been seriously wounded. Given any sort of choice, she would _never_ have let him drown in worry from a vague declaration in a stranger’s hand, would have done everything she could to protect him from the fear of the unknown. She would have written herself to tell him as much as she could of what happened, even if it meant just a few lines in her familiar hand telling him not to worry. She would have smiled that crooked smile and lied through her teeth to tell him she was fine, just needed a rest somewhere fancy like London.

Two, he knew that he couldn’t let her do this on her own anymore. His girl was out there putting her body and soul on the line fighting a war to protect their way of life and he was here at home sketching pictures of architecture and racing toy boats for fun. Guilt flooded him, bitter on his tongue. He’d never loathed himself and his weak body more.

A cloak of calm determination floated over him, muffling Bucky’s worried questions. Lily, his girl, his _soulmate_ , was out there alone. But not for long. He was going to do whatever it damn well took to get across there to fight.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

“A lot of guys getting killed over there,” came the voice of the guy sitting next to Steve, both of them clad in just their undershorts in the cold waiting room. “Kind of makes you think twice about enlisting.”

_Rogers, Steven_ came the call.

“Nope,” Steve replied to his neighbour. He closed his newspaper and stepped up to the military enlistment doctor.

Maybe this time.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Steve Rogers from Paramus got a 4F on his application. Fourth time now.

Bucky Barnes from Brooklyn got an Induction Order in the mail. He’d been drafted.

Neither of them got a letter from London.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

The door of Bucky’s gym slammed behind him but he was already paces down the sidewalk, thunder clear across his face. He lifted his bag higher on his shoulder and swore beneath his breath. Damn it all, Bucky had _needed_ today’s fight, needed to clear some of the itch from under his skin. He yearned for the clarity of a good bout with a strong opponent to balance the mess of emotions he was feeling at home. The tournament today was going to be a balm to his overwrought nerves, a healthy violence to escape the relentless pounding of his heart in his chest and fear in his bones but when he arrived at the gym his coach told him that his opponent, good ol’ Timmy Carston that Irish bastard, had forfeited the match. Bucky still got the points, still advanced in the championship, but it was fucking hollow. He would have preferred losing today as long as it meant he could hit someone without feeling guilty about it.

With his feet pounding heavy on the pavement and his anger dulling his ears, Bucky almost missed the sound of a scuffle from the tiny alley he was about to walk past. He rolled his eyes and would have put a dollar on it that it was Steve but he didn’t know anyone dumb enough to take that bet. He sped up, almost as eager to beat up some lunkheads as he was to protect Steve. Dropping his gym bag, Bucky skidded into the narrow alley in time to see Steve get floored by a clip to the chin by a guy twice his size. Two other guys were brawling a few yards further in behind an overturned trash can.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s assailant by the shoulder, swung him round and crashed his fist into the asshole’s face hard enough to feel his nose crush beneath Bucky’s knuckles. Blood streamed down the guy’s face, across his mouth and down his chin and he lifted wide eyes to stare at Bucky.

“Not as easy fighting someone your own size, huh?” Bucky snarled.

Without another word the bleeding thug turned tail and fled out the alleyway, not even bothering to wait for his accomplice. Satisfied, Bucky watched him go then turned back to Steve. The sarcastic reproach he was about to sling at his best pal melted off his tongue when he saw the identity of his friend’s mystery collaborator. None other than Tim Carston had dispatched his opponent and was kneeling in front of Steve, a hand tilting his face to see the blossoming bruise on Steve’s jaw.

“Too sick to fight today, hey Carston?” Bucky snapped. “Sure doesn’t look it, considering the guy on the ground over there.”

“Fuck off, Barnes,” Tim growled, not turning around. “Ain’t none of your business.”

An aborted yell from the alley entrance had all three of them turning to watch another big bruiser come running towards them. Bucky readied himself in case the guy was here for payback but as he got closer Bucky recognised Tim’s older brother Jim Carston, his co-worker from the docks. The older Carston dove for his younger brother and yanked him backwards away from Steve in a loose head lock.

“Blazing devil are ye about, ye fecking eejit?” Jim hollered, furious enough that he let his usually-light Irish accent come through loud and clear. “Too proud are ye? Couldn’t lay down for one feckin fight?”

“Jim it ain’t like that!” Tim squeaked, his hands clawing at the heavy arm at his throat. Tim was strong, a welterweight like Bucky, but Jim was a docks brawler through and through and had him pinned easy. Bucky edged along the alley wall towards Steve, ready to grab him and run. He wanted a fight today, no lie about it, but fighting Jim Carston was above him and he knew it. Although there was something about this whole scenario that wasn’t quite adding up… A mad explanation flit through Bucky’s mind.

“Feck it ain’t! Ye’ve only gone an done it now, boyo, Creedy’ll have us both, ye kin be sure o’ that!”

“Stop it!” Steve coughed and struggled to his feet. His balance was off, no doubt caused by the clip to the head. “Don’t hurt him! Jim, he was _helping_.”

Jim Carston froze and Tim took the opportunity to slip out of the headlock. The older brother’s eyes locked onto his sibling. “That true, Timmy?”

“It’s true,” Bucky spoke up. Even though he only had his theories about what was going on here, if Steve said Tim hadn’t been part of it then that was good enough for him. “I saw him take out a meat head that was going after Steve.”

For a long moment all that could be heard was Steve’s wheezing breath as the four men all sized each other up. The mad idea that had taken root in Bucky’s thoughts bloomed. Then Jim grabbed his brother’s shoulder and started dragging him along, intent on leaving the alley.

“Fine. But you and me, boyo, we’ll be having words.”

Before they could walk past him, Bucky stepped in front of both Irishmen and crossed his arms. Ignoring Tim’s silent warning, Bucky instead lifted his chin and stared at Jimmy.

“That’s twice now I’ve seen you step in for Steve and now you’re telling Tim to take a drop in a fight against me. Reckon you owe us an explanation.”

Jim’s glare could have frozen Hell. He tightened his grip on Tim’s shoulder. “I don’t owe you a feckin thing, Barnes. Now move.”

“Or what? You’ll take a shot at me?” Bucky’s reckless grin felt good. He had a theory and he was damned well going to prove it. “Cos I don’t reckon you will.”

When neither of the Carston brothers replied and Jim didn’t punch him in the throat, Bucky considered his theory vindicated. Still blocking the alley, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. With another lazy half-smile, this one entirely confident, and Jim’s eyes glaring a hole in his face, he struck a match and lit his smoke before taking a long drag. Behind the Carston brothers, Steve was unusually quiet and Bucky counted his blessings.

“So now I want you to explain to me why your boss Creedy’s been invested in Steve’s and my well-being,” he smirked, exhaling smoke through his teeth. “Or maybe the story _we_ give Creedy about this alley might not match up to Tim’s,”

 “Bucky, don’t be an asshole,” Tim begged, his big brother silent and deadly next to him. “Please. You know we can’t say nothin,”

 “Might be you can’t say much but I know enough about things to know you can give me _something_ ,” Bucky replied, taking another pull on his cigarette. He didn’t really want to get the Carston men in trouble with Creedy but fuck it, he _had_ to know. He was leaving for war soon and leaving Steve behind and if Creedy-

“Creedy put a protection order on you and Rogers back in ’39,” Jim growled. “Part of a deal with the Beneventi’s. Either Creedy or Beneventi fail to protect you, the other has cause to retaliate. And one of the conditions was that neither of you were to know.”

“Holy shit,” Tim muttered, clearly new to this news. Bucky had to agree.

“But why?” Steve asked from over the Carston’s shoulders.

Jim shrugged, the action jostling the brother still stuck under his meaty arm. “Same as most, someone wants you safe and is willing to put the squeeze on to make it happen. You’re putting me in a real hard place, you get me? I want my brother to stay alive, eejit that he is, and breaking Creedy’s orders ain’t healthy for either of us.”

Bucky wasn’t about to let it go that easy, he wanted more. Like who the fuck had the power to even broker, let alone enforce a three year protection order between two different crime families? And just what the hell was at stake as leverage? His thoughts must have been on display because Jim sneered at him again.

“You want answers, and you’ve got me over a barrel far enough to get them, but do you really know what you’re risking? Do you _want_ a turf war to start in your home streets? Cos let me tell you, mac, a lot of innocents are gonna be in the way of that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fecking reality. This ain’t no schoolyard. People will get hurt, people no one will be able to protect. And it won’t matter if you’ve got your very own princess -,” Jim sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes blown wide as he realised he’d slipped up. He slowly lowered his arm from Tim’s shoulder and waited like a coiled spring to see if Bucky would press the issue.

_Your very own princess_.

Of course it was.

Bucky felt the grin lighting up his face and he took another long drag to stop his mouth shooting off before he could think things through.

“You’re right, Jimmy,” he said finally. He moved aside to the wall of the alley. “Wouldn’t want to risk it. Best if you didn’t tell us.”

Both brothers stared at him, one hopeful and the other suspicious. Finally Jim gave him a short nod and led his brother past.

“See you at the docks, Barnes.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so full disclosure here, both Creedy and the Beneventi's are completely made up. They have no relation to any person, living or dead, blah blah blah. This is a work of fiction, please suspend your disbelief with me!


	14. Stark Expo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Stark Expo!
> 
> Also, there's a little bit of smut here. Just a touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darlings! Thank you so much for your enthusiasm! I can't believe how many of you have embraced this little story of mine and I am so SUPER hyped up now we're officially PAST THE HALFWAY POINT!  
> I think. I mean, I'm still not entirely sure how many chapters I'll end up with but we're halfway through my plot so that counts for something right???
> 
> Shine on my crazy diamonds  
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

At three in the morning there was a knock on the door.

It was a telegram.

Steve took one look at the uniformed messenger in the doorway, vomited, then collapsed on the lounge room floor.

Bucky took the telegram and read it. Smiled. Read it again. Gave it to Steve.

 

  _Boys. Flying to NYC for Spring. Save a dance for me._

 

Lily was coming home.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

Stark Expo was amazing. Enormous sculptures, neon-lit buildings and speeding monorails caught the eye in all directions; a galaxy of spotlights, steel and chrome and crystal covering every surface. Fireworks lit each corner of the sky, blossoming scarlet and cobalt and copper fire in vast unbroken spheres. Elders and youngsters and visitors of all ages in between gasped and tittered between the exhibition halls and the music halls and the commissary halls, all of which - even without the dramatic and arresting decorations and artworks – were far grander than the best of the halls near home. And yet Steve barely saw any of it.

Bucky had been given his orders. He was shipping out for London first thing in the morning with the 107th – the regiment Steve’s father had been in, had given his life serving in. It should have been _Steve_ going tomorrow, not Bucky, and that burned like hellfire in his guts, blinding him to Stark’s manufactured splendour.

To anyone who knew Bucky as well as Steve, it was obvious that Bucky didn’t want to go to war. He hadn’t tried to enlist four times like Steve had, hadn’t gone once to the recruitment offices, just went about his daily life as best he could. But he was a strong, healthy man who knew how to fight and how to learn and knew the duty required of a hot-blooded American and when his number came up he hadn’t complained a thing, just shrugged his shoulders and began the usual Bucky Barnes method of being exceptional in every area he set his mind to. He came home from Basic as a Sergeant. No one was surprised.

 

Steve was desperate to fight, but was refused. Bucky didn’t want to fight, but was forced.

They didn’t really talk about it.

 

So now on Bucky’s last night Stateside, Steve had let Bucky’s magnetism and charm persuade him to visit the Stark Expo and by the time they arrived he was even looking forward to it. Until he saw who was waiting for them, that was.

“Dates, Bucky? Really?” he groaned, looking over to where two nice looking girls waited for them, one blonde and one brunette. One of them looked a lot like the Connie/Bonnie girl Bucky had taken to the Jubilation concert but with dark hair. The other looked entirely unimpressed with the prospect of spending an evening with Steve as her date and was elbowing her smiling friend in the ribs.

Bucky grinned. “Not askin you to marry one of ‘em, just enjoy yourself a while. Three and a half million girls in New York, Steve.”

“You know I’d settle for just one,” he replied, his hands deep in his pockets, fingering the little matchbox he’d kept on his person for three months.

“She’ll be home before you know it, pal. Until then, just smile at the pretty girls and make nice alright?”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Bucky and the girls were entranced by Howard Stark’s show, enthralled by the glitz and glamour of the dancing girls and Stark’s dramatic reveal of a prototype flying car. Steve stood behind the trio, pleased to see Bucky’s eyes light up at the sight of all the futuristic technology, and tried his hardest not to be bitter about being ignored by yet another duo of girls. He was just about to offer his ‘date’ some of his peanuts when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find a familiar face and a name danced at the tip of his tongue just out of reach of his memory. He _knew_ this man. He was dressed in military Class A’s similar to Bucky’s and for a brief panicked moment Steve wondered if the man was here to arrest him for lying on so many enlistment applications.

“Mr Rogers,” the man muttered low, interrupting Steve before he could speak. “A gift from a mutual friend, to satisfy you of my motives.”

Checking to see that Bucky and the two dames were still occupied, Steve dropped his nearly empty bag of peanuts and accepted the small gift. He hastily unwrapped the brown paper covering to find a half tin of peaches sitting in his hand. His breath stuttered. He looked up to see the edge of the soldier’s lips twisted into a tiny smile and Steve’s memory came back with a jolt. It was McNamara from Jubilation Hall, no longer in a tuxedo but military dress.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me, Mr Rogers?”

McNamara slipped through the crowd like a wet eel and even though he was the smaller of the two of them and was effectively walking in the soldier’s wake, Steve kept getting blocked by the throngs of people and had to work hard to keep chase. He saw the man enter through an unmarked door in a closed pavilion and quickly followed him inside and through a nondescript hallway to find a low level, windowless office complete with wooden desk, an uncomfortable looking chair and several overflowing filing cabinets. A green-topped banker’s lamp on the desk was the only source of illumination in the room.

“Please wait here,” McNamara said, before closing the door behind himself on his way out.

Steve paced in the office’s limited space, unable to settle. It was early spring, McNamara was here, McNamara had given him a _tin of_ _peaches_. Surely that meant-

“Hi there, Handsome,”

He spun, a grin splitting his face in two even before he saw her. Lily stood in the office doorway and even though she was dressed in a way he’d never seen before in clothes similar to a soldier’s fatigues but all in black, and even though her hair was held back in a plain braid instead of her glamorous face-framing pin curls and even though her lips were bare of their signature red gloss, Steve would have known her anywhere. His feet moved of their own volition and suddenly his hands were at her waist and he was kissing her. Dimly he realised that without her heels she was a fraction shorter than him and he gripped tighter just in case she shrunk further and disappeared completely.

Beneath his kisses he felt her lips curve into a smile.

“Steve,” she giggled, but he didn’t let up, moving instead to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her pale throat. God she tasted amazing, sweet as nectar, and all he wanted was to lose himself in her, to drown in her, to-

“ _Stevie_ ,” she insisted, taking his face in her palms to still him. “Baby, this is lovely, really, but can it wait? We need to talk,”

“Don’ wanna’,” he complained, shifting his hands up to her ribs just beneath the swell of her breasts. It amazed him how such a narrow ribcage could anchor such a glorious bounty.

Lily kissed him on the nose and backed away to lean on the desk and he reluctantly let her go.

“I only have an hour with you, baby, and I know you have questions,”

“An hour?” he asked. Surely not, she’d said she was coming home, hadn’t she?

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I know it’s not what we wanted. But I’ve got a good lead and I can’t- ,” Lily paused and huffed out a breath, smoothing back the hairs that Steve’s passionate greeting had loosened from her braid. “Let me start from the beginning. You remember I was injured? In France?”

A wash of ice water swept through his veins, instantly cooling his ardour. He frowned. “I didn’t know it was in France,”

“You’re right, I didn’t give you any details. Well, I can’t give you a lot more now but what I can tell you is that I was tracking someone, someone very important to the Axis hierarchy. They got wind of me and set me up. I was ambushed and injured although I was able to get back to a safehouse and then across to London.”

Steve tracked his eyes over her body, covered though it was from wrist to neck to the high black boots she wore. He couldn’t see any visible sign of injury or limp or weakness. “We got a letter from your officer in charge. It was bad, wasn’t it?”

She shrugged. “It’s never good, but I don’t think it was as bad as you imagine. I couldn’t tell you that though, because I’m still being hunted. I had to stop all communication and go dark.”

Something black and oily and suspicious twisted in his guts. His heart rate sped up.

“If you had to go dark, why are you here now? What changed?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve found him again. My target. And I’m going after him.”

“Back to Europe. You’ve come to say goodbye,” he stated flatly.

“Yes.”

Steve was suddenly overcome with the need to punch something, anything, as long as it would smash beneath his fists. He was stuck here with his thumb up his ass doing nothing and Bucky was shipping out and going to London and then to battle and Lily was gonna turn around and just _go back-_

“ _Why?”_ he begged. “You’ve already been in this for _years_ , you’ve been _injured_ for Cripes’ sake! Why do you need to go back? Why not let someone else do it?”

 _Someone else like all those fellas signing up for it,_ came the desperate thought, _someone else who isn’t my soulmate, who isn’t **you**_.

“Because it’s my job, Steve,” Lily replied as though she wasn’t breaking his heart right in front of him. “And because it’s the right thing to do. Nobody knows this guy like I do, no other agent has been able to get nearly as close as I have.”

“God damnit, just listen to yourself, Lily! It’s too dangerous!” he cried and instantly wished he could take it back.

Lily’s face paled at his outburst. She crossed her arms over her chest and levelled him a cool glare.

“I recommend you seriously consider the next words that come out of your mouth, Steven Grant Rogers, because if they in any way assume that you somehow have the right to dictate my life to me then I will walk out of this door right now without a backwards glance. Soulmate or not, no man has ever held such a power and none ever will.”

Steve’s shoulders collapsed and he scrubbed his face with his hands. She was right, of course, he had no claim on her at all and she was a free person to act however she wished. He breathed in deep, trying to ignore the asthmatic stridor in his bronchioles that had been triggered by his heightened emotions.

“I’m sorry, Lily,” he said, closing his eyes against the sight of her justified anger. “I just… I care about you. Deeply. And I can’t tell you what it feels like to know you’re going back into danger while I just…” he broke off with a frustrated huff.

She snorted but her tone was mollified. “ _I_ might not know what it feels like but I’m fairly certain a few million American families sure do.”

Remembering the matchbox in his breast pocket, Steve swallowed.

“Lily,” he started. He pulled her arms away from her chest and ran his hands down to grasp her fingertips. His own were shaking.

_Fight for it. Show her how much you want her._

He looked deep into her winter blue eyes, searching for the love he knew was visible in his own.

“Lily, is that what… Am I… your family?”

“Steve?”

The stridor ticked in his throat and Steve coughed to clear the obstruction. Please Lord, he begged, not an asthma attack now.

“Because I would like to be. Family, I mean,” he explained, his voice rough with emotion.

Still holding on to one of her hands, he reached into his pocket with the other to retrieve the little matchbox and set it on Lily’s palm. At her confused expression, he pushed the box open to reveal a scrap of cloth cushioning a slender gold ring. A phrase in foreign words was engraved on the inside.

“ _Stevie…_ ”

“I know it’s a war and I know you can’t make any promises and I’m not asking that. I’m just asking that when it’s over, when you come home for good, that we can talk about having something together. A future together. A family.”

Lily’s eyes glistened and filled and two fat tears slipped down her cheeks. He watched her throat work, his heart caught in desperate hope.

“Will you wear my ring, sweetheart?”

She keened softly and more tears tumbled over her dark lashes. The hand not holding the matchbox gripped his like a vice.

“Sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” Lily whispered, her voice cracking. She sniffed and tried to smile. It was watery and wavered but genuine in its affection. “And… and when the war is over… anything you want. I promise,”

Joy burst forth in his chest, brighter and clearer than any of Stark’s fireworks, sizzling bolts of pure happiness through every one of his bones. Noticing that her hands were shaking just as badly as his own, he took up the ring from the box to fit on her finger. It was slightly too large, his mother having had bigger knuckles than Lily, but it was secure enough that it would stay put until they could have it resized. It looked perfect on her hand, like it had always been there, like it _belonged_ there, and he raised her fingers and pressed a kiss to the metal.

Lily’s smile broadened. “I’m honoured to wear your ring, Stevie. What does the inscription say?”

“It’s Irish, same as my parents,” Steve explained, wiping the tears from Lily’s cheeks with his thumb. He hoped they were happy tears. “My father chose it. It means ‘Our love will last for all of time’.”

She nodded, staring at the ring now adorning her finger. Then she looked up at him, her eyes shining and her lips pink and smiling. Her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled him in for a kiss that started chaste but quickly blossomed into something hotter, something deeper as though Lily was trying to sear him into her memory. She nipped at his bottom lip and he groaned, pushing her back against the desk. She kissed him again, primal and wanting and Steve couldn’t help but buck his hips into hers, drawing an answering moan from his girl.

“ _Jesus_ , Lily…” he whimpered against her as her lips pulled his earlobe. Their kisses before now had been amazing but this was an entirely new playing field. Lily was a live wire, igniting sparks across his nerves. His trousers were tight against him and he rocked into her again, aching to find the friction he needed. He moaned her name over and over, barely recognising the desperate whine of his own voice.

“Shh, baby, I got you,”

Still drowning him in her kisses, Lily manoeuvred him around to the other side of the desk and pushed him down into the chair. When she released him, Steve opened his eyes with a bleary blink of blissful confusion.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, alright? No strings, okay Stevie?”

Stop? _Stop?_ Why on God’s green earth would Steve ever want Lily to stop anything she wanted to do to him?

Realising she was waiting for his consent, Steve hastily nodded. “Got it. Say stop to stop,”

Lily bestowed a beatific smile on him then that made Steve think of Raphael’s angels then lowered herself to her knees in front of him. She pulled him down for another searing kiss that had him seeing stars and he felt her clever little fingers at his waist. Then a breath of cool air on his aching crotch made him gasp.

“ _Lily,”_ he groaned, shifting his hips to arch up into her grasp. Her hot hand took hold of him and it felt like he was going to combust.

“Stop?”

“Please, _no_ ,”

Lily’s answering smirk was one that Steve would never, _ever_ , forget.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up with you,”

“You really gonna do this again?”

“Well, it’s a fair, I’m gonna try my luck,”

 

Steve looked up at the enlistment station banner and thought of the last hour of his life, of Lily, of his ring on her hand, her lips around him. Yes, indeed, this was his lucky day. He could feel it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obv I borrowed a couple lines from the Stark Expo scene in CA:TFA. Did you spot them?


	15. Lehigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Lehigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of people have asked about Darcy's Pre-Incident Timeline, so here we go:
> 
> Battle of New York, where Captain America was revealed to be alive and Thor returned to Midgard. Jane and Darcy had been hidden away in Norway by SHIELD and deliberately kept in the dark. They didn't know what happened until afterwards and even so only learned enough to know Thor was there before Jane immediately sunk into her Thor-related depression and Darcy was frantically trying to keep her alive/functioning.
> 
> Jane and Darcy moved to London. Dark Elves happened and Thor returned and Jane & Co were shipped off for Stark Tower. They meet Tony Stark, SCIENCE! happens and nobody sleeps for days at a time. It's all pop tarts and coffee and nothing outside the lab exists. Just a scant two weeks after the move to NY, The Incident happens. During this period, Steve was on his motorcycle tour of America and was not in residence at the Tower. At this point, Darcy doesn't know Steve survived/was frozen/thawed, only the history she was taught surrounding WW2 and Captain America and the Howling Commandos.
> 
> Hope that helps!
> 
> Smooches and cheek pinches to everyone  
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

A chance.

Dr Erskine had given him a chance. It was all he needed, he told himself.

So when the equipment officer mouthed off and said they had run out of ‘kids size’ uniforms, Steve grit his teeth against the corresponding laughter from the other recruits and accepted a too-large uniform that made him look even more ridiculous. But he’d been stuffing his shoes for years already, what difference would it make now? His dog tags were real and solid on his chest, identifying him as Recruit Steven G Rogers and that’s what mattered.

And when his food tray was flipped out of his hands in the mess hall, Steve closed his eyes and reminded himself of Erskine’s supportive words in order to ease the burn of rage and embarrassment while he wiped reconstituted mashed potato from his shirt. Remembered how the doctor had smiled with approval when Steve declared he didn’t like bullies, no matter where they came from. Then when Gilmore Hodge ‘commiserated’ him on his lack of dinner and ‘helped feed the baby’ by flicking forkfuls of food at his head, instead of fighting back Steve remembered Bucky in his smart Sergeant’s uniform and his parting salute. _Don’t win the war until I get there._

And each time he was tripped while running, when he was shoved to the back of the shower line so there was only cold water left, when he found his bootlaces knotted together in a vicious tangle, when his pillow went missing and his bed was short-sheeted, whenever he heard the jeers and the names and the mocking laughter, Steve lifted his chin and closed his mouth against the smart retorts he so desperately wanted to yell, and thought of Lily, of his girl. Had she gone through a similar experience in her training, being a woman surrounded by meat-headed jocks? He imagined it with glee, how his brave spitfire would have knocked them all on their asses and wished he could do the same. Instead he kept his head low and his trap shut and worked harder than ever to show them all what he could be.

On the worst days when it got real bad and Hodge brought out another round of particularly vicious set of taunts that implied Steve was less than a man, he was sorely tempted to tell them about Lily, to prove just what sort of woman a supposedly lesser man like him could catch, but he remembered Lily’s warnings. She’d repeated it that day at the Stark Expo, reminding him that now more than ever he had to hide their connection. Her enemies were too close to her, she said, and had eyes everywhere. They could find her through him, she said, and he was so terrified by the notion that he hadn’t even included his soulmate information in the SSR paperwork Erskine gave him. As welcome as the boost to his ego would be, it was not worth the risk of the enemy finding her. In this, he could keep her safe.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Steve liked Agent Carter from the moment she first appeared in front of the line of candidates in her smart women’s army uniform and her curled hair. She reminded him of Lily with her bright lips and air of complete competence, and he liked her even more when she flattened Gilmore Hodge for being a misogynistic jerk. Steve wondered if it was the Army’s training that turned women into terrifyingly capable soldiers or if they were that way before they signed up. He decided it was probably a bit of both.

It surprised him, however, when Agent Carter slipped into the empty seat across from him in the mess hall one evening and placed her tin mug of tea on the wobbly table like she intended to stay. After all, they’d never had a conversation  together and she’d never said anything to him beyond demanding he complete more press-ups or jump higher on the course and he’d never said anything to her beyond “Yes, ma’am, Agent Carter, ma’am”. He raised his eyes to her, half stood from his seat and was about to salute when she waved him back down with an impatient flick of her wrist and told him to finish his dinner.

After nearly fifteen minutes of awkward silence where Steve was frantically going over the pros and cons of attempting conversation with the stunning and frankly intimidating brunette across the table, Agent Carter lowered her tea and met his gaze.

“You could report them, you know,” she stated in her flat British accent.

Steve wasn’t an idiot, he knew what she was referencing. But his ears still burned hot knowing that _she_ knew how he had been targeted by the other recruits, that she had seen how they all treated him like he was lower than dirt. He wondered just how much of their bullying she knew about and decided she probably knew everything. Agent Carter seemed like that kind of woman.

“I could,” he replied, dropping his eyes to the now empty tray in front of him. “If I thought it’d change anything, maybe I’d be tempted. But I won’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, still not looking up. “Seems to me, bullies like Hodge and the others always need someone littler than them to pick on so they can make themselves feel big. If it ain’t me, then it’d be someone else. I’m used to it, I can take it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

Steve shrugged again. He wasn’t going to report Hodge and they both knew it. He hoped that would be the end of the matter and he could slink off somewhere to hide the rest of the evening and read his strategy books but Agent Carter didn’t seem inclined to let the conversation go.

“I do have some understanding of what it’s like. A lot of men have a problem with women in the military,” she said, before tilting her head to the side. “You don’t have a problem with women in the military though, do you, Rogers?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied with a soft smile. “None whatsoever. You’re not the first military woman I’ve met,”

 “WAC? WAVE?” she asked, referencing both the Army and Naval branches of women’s volunteer services. He shook his head.

“No, she was something else.”

Agent Carter’s gaze turned predatory and Steve felt the air charge with tension. “What was her name?”

“I, uh… I don’t remember,” he mumbled, realising he had made a terrible mistake. “But uh, she’s probably not with them anymore anyway, probably married or something.”

“You’re a horrible liar, Rogers,” Agent Carter scoffed. She leaned back in her seat and waited him out, letting him stew.

“Lily,” he breathed, so low that only Agent Carter would hear. “Her name is Lily.”

The reaction was subtle but immediate. Agent Carter’s eyes widened and her grip tightened on her mug.

“You know her,” Steve accused.

“I can’t tell you anything,”

“Well, I can’t tell you anything either,” he snapped back, frustrated with the entire conversation. He took a breath, remembering that none of it was Agent Carter’s fault and he had just snapped at his superior officer. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s just…”

“I understand, Steve,” Agent Carter smiled. She reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “I won’t ask about her again.”

She didn’t say it, but Steve heard the words anyway.

_And neither should you_.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

“You sure about this, Cookie?”

“For the hundredth time yes. I know what I’m doing. I can take these guys, I swear it.”

The frown marks in Howard’s forehead deepened and Darcy pat him on the shoulder. He let her, mostly because he was busy steering the plane. Flying at night over enemy airspace was no easy task and once again Darcy was thankful her friend was the best civilian air pilot in the United States. Possibly the world.

“Don’t worry so much, Howie. Six months. I’ll be back for Thanksgiving, alright? We can give Jarvis the night off and skinny dip at the Imperial.”

Howard barked out a laugh. “You’re something else, you know that? I don’t know if you’re brilliant or just plain crazy.”

She took advantage of his distraction and kissed him on the cheek, right next to where his headset covered his ear. “Takes one to know one, Howard Stark, now shut up and get us closer to that clearing,”

Howard saluted her and turned his attention back to the plane controls. Darcy returned to the cargo bay and double checked her equipment, making sure it was all strapped correctly. She shot a grin to Vernon, her SSR driver and bodyguard who looked as pumped as she was, then shifted her grin over to the newly promoted Agent McNamara. The poor boy was terrified, white faced and eyes bulging as he clung to the interior supports of Howard’s modified airplane but he rallied a shaky thumbs up at her unspoken question.

They were a good team and Darcy was as confident as she could be, given she was about to drop into occupied territory and embark on the most dangerous task she’d never imagined ever signing up for. They’d done all the ground work, had spent years tracking and sneaking and stalking. She’d argued her case with the army hierarchy, had taken the fight past Phillips and the spineless Senators and further up the chain until she was heard. She’d presented what information the SSR had gathered, had put forward her proposal. She was damned good at her job, she had the history to back it up and the brass up top knew it and acquiesced. Not that they’d lose much either way. If ‘Lily’ actually succeeded in her goal, the Allied forces would reap the benefits a hundred fold. If she failed, well, it was just her and her team on the line. Not much to lose from the perspective of the big boys on the Hill.

 If she had any hope of changing the fate of one Steven Grant Rogers, Darcy Lillian Lewis would have to risk it all.

“Alright, boys, we’ve got a date to make. Let’s go punch some Nazis in their tiny venereal-diseased dicks and send a postcard home to Papa at his shiny new Pentagon,”

Vernon jumped first with a whoop, diving backwards out the hatch with a manic grin stretching from ear to ear. McNamara crossed himself then followed suit. Darcy waved one last time at Howard.

“Remember that appointment I made for you, Howie!” she yelled. “It’s fucking important, don’t miss it!”

“I said I won’t forget, Lil, I even made Jarvis write it up for me! Now go defend the good of mankind, you little shit!”

Darcy gave a sloppy two fingered salute and stepped off the edge of the hatch, letting the night sky embrace her as she fell.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy references the 'shiny new pentagon'. It opened for use in January 1943, a few months prior to when this chapter is set.


	16. Summers in Sicily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky-centric!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone ask for more Bucky? I THINK YOU DID!
> 
> This chapter goes out to my dear friend Tamani. Good luck with the rest of your exams, sweetheart. I hope you can pinpoint which part of this chapter I was channeling my inner-you.
> 
> Air kisses!  
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Spending the summer in Sicily sounded like a real gas for the split second after he heard the news right up until Bucky realised he was in the Army now, and the reality of guns and oil and sweat and the stink of too many men in too tight quarters would completely replace any fantasy he had of pretty Italian girls and sweet snow cones and leggy swimsuits on the white sandy beaches. Well, actually, as it turned out his Army reality didn’t quite _completely_ replace his Sicilian fantasy. Bucky was a good looking man in uniform, after all, and his smirk and his wink hadn’t let him down in Brooklyn and it didn’t in Messina, either. He managed to sneak a few kisses here and there, nothing more than that, but considering it was a heck of a lot more than most of the fellas were getting he was still given a good-natured ribbing for it by his squad mates, the jealous bastards. They were a motley lot, with the Allied forces in Sicily coming from all over the US, Canada and Britain, but he connected best with Private Paul Gowrey from his own 107 th, Sergeant Dugan, nicknamed Dum Dum, from the 69th, and Privates Gabe Jones and Ollie Farnden from the 92nd.

So he didn’t think nothing too hard about it when said so-called mates gathered around him outside their bunk tent, joining him to sit on make-shift seats of logs or overturned crates or stones to set about cleaning their rifles and started in with the jibes. It felt good, felt natural to have the guys around, good to be part of something, and for all he missed Steve, _God_ did he miss Steve, and Lily, the gorgeous bombshell that made the air force’s painted nose-cones cry in envy, he had found friends here. It wasn’t easy and he still couldn’t wait for his tour to end so he could go back to Brooklyn, mind, but it wasn’t as bad as those unlucky bastards who ended up in northern France at least.

“Hey Barnes, was that you I spotted with the baker’s girl near the rocks?” asked Farnden, the picture of perfect innocence as he began dismantling his gun. He and Jones could have been brothers the way they looked and acted alike but it had been a damned long time since Bucky was fooled by their pure-as-the-driven-snow act. He’d grown up with Steven _Aww, Shucks_ Rogers, after all.

“The baker’s girl?” asked Jones, sweet as honey. “Nah, it was the li’l shepherdess, and it was up the hill,”

“Nah, that was last week, Gabe,” corrected Gowrey. “He’s moved on now.”

“Think you mean that Canadian nurse in the 42nd who was givin’ ‘im the eye, she’s the one,”

“Mind your own fuckin business, that’s what it was,” Bucky growled, focusing on his own weapon and ignoring the shared grins going on above his head. He wasn’t about to kiss and tell, no matter how desperate their love lives were. Assholes could find their own kisses or live vicariously through someone else.

Having successfully received the response they were after, there was a few moments of quiet and Bucky thought that was the end of it for a while.

Of course it wasn’t.

“So,” began Dum Dum in his baritone. “Can’t help but notice you’ve got a type, Barnes. Got a thing for short, curvy, brunettes huh?”

“Fuck off, Dugan,” muttered Bucky, because _Jesus, he had no fucking idea._

“Dare say your little nurse’d be disappointed to hear about your girl Stateside though, all the same,”

That got his attention. Bucky’s hands stilled and he looked up to find Dum Dum grinning at him.

“Ain’t got no steady girl back home, and you know it,”

If anything, Dum Dum’s grin got even wider beneath his moustache. Shit-eating wide.

“You sure about that, Barnes?”

“Course I’m fuckin’ sure,” Bucky snapped. Was he sure that the only girl he’d ever consider committing to just happened to be his best friend’s soulmate? Yeah, he was pretty fucking sure. Only other person he’d ever go steady with _was_ _a_ _man_ , so that one was out as well.

“Cos you see, some dolly from back home who can twist Colonel Grafton into knots from ten thousand miles away seems like just my kinda gal. I’m practically obligated to look her up when I get back.”

“The fuck you talking ‘bout, Dum Dum?”

“ _Sergeant Barnes!”_

All five men swivelled their head towards the Command Tent where Corporal Langton was waving his arms to get Bucky’s attention. He shifted back to glare at Dum Dum, but that big bowler-hatted jerk just smirked and nodded his jaw towards Command without even a heads-up on what to expect from the brass.

Quickly snapping together his cleaned rifle, Bucky wasted no time in obeying the summons. Grafton was a fucking hard arse and Bucky wasn’t about to offer up any old excuse for the bastard to lay into him. He ducked beneath the canvas flap to find the big pavilion empty except for Colonel Grafton, the man commanding the US section of troops in the Sicilian Operation, and his senior aide Corporal Langton, who was fidgeting with a pile of clipboards and looking like he wished he was somewhere far away.

“Barnes, I used to like you,” Grafton scowled, slowly getting up from his field desk and pointing at him with a cigar-filled hand. “You run fast, shoot good and shut up when I tell you to. So imagine my surprise then to find this week’s biggest pain in my arse this side of Palermo has your name written all over it,”

“Sir?” Bucky asked, keeping his voice neutral and his hands clasped behind him in parade rest.

Grafton nodded at his aide, who lifted a wooden box about up onto the desk. It was about two foot wide and high and was secured down with nails. Sure enough, just like Colonel Grafton had said, black paint marked out _Sergeant James B Barnes, 107 th Regiment, US Army, Operation Husky, Sicily_. Below that were two heavily inked marks, one from the USPS Washington and the other from the Royal Mail of the UK’s London office.

“Considering it’s been over six weeks since any US soldier in Sicily has received any mail because of my very important strategic operational ban, can you explain to me how one Sergeant managed to get his own personalised box of perfumed letters and strawberry candies sent by his sweetheart?”

“Uh…”

“And considering it came via the _Royal fucking Mail_ , can you explain to me why your sweetheart decided that it was just so fucking necessary you get your candy that she went above _the Commander of the American Fucking Forces_ , flipped the switch over to the British and _somehow_ called in favours from the Lieutenant-General of the British Special Forces to get it here?”

“Er…”

“And considering the agreed upon Code of Conduct between Allied Operations at the Casablanca Conference to which every division on this island is subject to, _including our own_ , can you explain to me just why your Very Special Box of Shit held first point at the already excruciatingly long inter-force task meeting I was forced to endure this morning?” Grafton held up his hand and shoved his cigar in his face with the other hand. “No wait, I know that one. It’s because _someone_ sent an unknown and non-requisitioned box of equipment from Washington to London to one of the most covert operations in Europe _before it was announced_. And _someone,_ namely myself, had to deal with that shit.”

“I’m-,”

“Don’t you fucking interrupt me when I’m on a roll, Barnes. You’re not allowed to grovel yet. I had to bold faced lie in front of my fellow Commanders this morning and convince them that yes, I knew this package was coming and yes, it was of strategic value and yes, I understand that the _Royal Fucking Mail_ is not a delivery service for US servicemen. So you tell me right now, Sergeant Barnes, why I shouldn’t shove that entire fucking box on a fire heap and kick your arse back to Brooklyn?”

Bucky decided that now was not the time to repeat his earlier point to Dugan that he did not, in fact, have a sweetheart.

“I’ll share my candies, sir?”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Steve dove towards the grenade, covering it with his small body as best he could.

“Get back! Stay away!” he yelled, signalling the danger.

He curled in tighter, as tight as he could until he was just a ball around the unexploded device. A long moment later, it still hadn’t exploded.

“It’s a dummy grenade!” came the relieved cry from nearby.

Steve lifted his head to see Erskine and Carter beaming at him and Phillips rolling his eyes.

“Was this a test?”

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

It turned out that Barnes’ Very Special Box of Shit, as it became known at camp, did not, in fact, have any perfumed letters in it. It did, however, have a lot of candy. Peppermints and boiled sweets and taffy and liquorice and Bucky had never been so freaking happy his Colonel had a sweet tooth. Additionally, Lily (because who else would it have been but her?) sent a half dozen pairs of very much appreciated thick woollen socks which Bucky immediately hid in his pack, magazines like _Esquire, LIFE,_ and _National Geographic,_ and a bunch of corny dime novels, playing cards, cigarettes, decent gum, several combs and toothbrushes and razors, paper, pencils and postcards, far more of everything than Bucky himself could use. Because Bucky refused to give up her name and continued to refute the fact the parcel’s sender was his girl, the bunch of assholes he served with decided to dub her “Mrs Sergeant Barnes” and were fucking merciless, obnoxiously praising her name whenever they got to read a new magazine or brush their teeth without bristles coming apart or when they were all gathered around in a spare few minutes to write home with the supplies she’d provided. Bucky tried to be dark about it all but really he was grinning bigger than even Steve could back in Brooklyn and the fact Lily had gone to all that effort just to bring him some comfort from home made his heart flutter about like a damned fool. He didn’t even really need to feel guilty about it either, cos _Lily_ had sent it to _him_.

Bucky kept the box all his gifts came in and had pulled it up next to the head of his bunk to use as a little table when one night he noticed it. Jones and Farnden were already snoring and Dum Dum and Gowrey were on duty so it was only him awake. He was just settling in to his cot when he accidentally knocked his little flashlight off the top of the box and onto the ground. He leaned over to pick it up when he noticed that the light was only shining through two thirds of the slats of his Very Special Box.

 _Holy shit_ , he thought with a fierce grin. _How’d I forget she was a fucking spy?_

Bucky pulled both the box and the flashlight onto the cot with him and upended the box, excited at the thought of a false bottom hiding more items. With a couple good yanks, he’d pulled the ‘bottom’ from the crate to find that yes, Lily was a sneaky little thing and yes, she had hidden contraband. First out of the hidden section was a flat bottle of tequila, praise that girl, and two of her tiny tin cups. Underneath the bottle was a note, which Bucky put aside for the moment, a beautiful pearl-handled pocket knife engraved with _JBB_ , a picture and finally right at the (real) bottom, a little bundle of white cloth.

He flipped over the picture and sucked in a gasp. Was his heartbeat banging loud enough to wake Jones and Farnden? It certainly felt like it. Lily had sent a photograph not of herself, like he had kind of expected, but of _Steve_. He was straddling their motorbike with his leather jacket and his helmet on and looking up into the sun. It didn’t seem like Steve knew he was being photographed because he had a particular smile on his face that Bucky _knew_ only happened when Steve was genuinely joyous. A drop of liquid fell onto the photograph and Bucky startled and pulled the precious paper out of the way lest it be ruined when he realised the wetness was his own tears. _God_ he missed Steve so damned much he was _cryin_ just looking at his face again. What a fucking sap.

Placing Steve’s likeness to the side Bucky grabbed a handful of the white cloth that Lily had included, thinking perhaps it was a bundle of handkerchiefs. When he lifted it to his face to wipe his eyes, though, he just happened to inhale. Like a hard punch to the gut, visceral memories exploded inside him and he sobbed out a moan. Lifting the cloth again, Bucky took another deep breath. Sandalwood and soap and _Steve._ Lily had sent him one of Steve’s cotton shirts. At the back of his mind he realised his secret was out, that _she_ _knew_ , she _must_ , but it didn’t matter, not right then, not when he held in his hands a piece of _home_. Bucky curled over, clutching the shirt to him, and let the tears come.

 

 

_Bucky_

_For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  
\-- "Matthew 6:21"_

_Stay safe_

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this war stuff is true, some is not true and some is flirting with being true. Operation Husky WAS a US/British/Canadian land sea and air assault to secure the island prior to the invasion of Italy proper. Considering Bucky and the 107th end up in northern Italy in just a few months, I figured this was the most logical campaign for him to be part of prior to that. I've made up names for leadership cos I can.


	17. Darcy's European Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who were wondering what Darcy was getting up to in Europe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness me! You beautiful people are spoiling me with all this love! How wonderful are you?  
> Some of you (you know who you are, you gorgeous bastards) have been with me since the very beginning and now we're coming in to the home chapters I just can't tell you how much I appreciate you. So please, take a moment to pat yourselves on the back and take in a deeeeeeep breath of self-satisfaction. You've earned it!
> 
> Kisses to everyone  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Steve commented from his position strapped in to Erskine and Stark’s Project Rebirth machine.

Dr Erskine’s lips twisted. “That was penicillin.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Darcy didn’t move a muscle, the only shift in her body the air going in and out of her lungs. She forced her torso to relax further into the cool ground of their night-time hiding spot in the brush, her eyes keen through the small binoculars against her face, her attention solely fixed on the squat, single story bunker in the dark clearing beyond them. Finally, after long, excruciating moments, a black clad figure emerged from the building’s shadows, signalled with one hand and then darted towards the tree line where she and Vernon hid.

“Mac’s on his way,”

Vernon grunted, his own eyes fixed on the bunker guards through his scope the entire time it took McNamara to slide in next to them.

“Intel was good,” the young agent whispered. “Ground floor labs and a basement. A dozen guards, three scientists. They’re not expecting any trouble.”

Darcy pursed her lips, looking over her former assistant and taking in his pale face beneath the black knit cap that covered his blonde hair. He was a good agent, naturally light-footed and brilliant with information and paperwork, but he was a terrible poker player.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What else did you find?”

He shrugged. “Could be nothing. But there’s another door leading downstairs that looks reinforced. I think they might be holding prisoners,”

Darcy hissed in a breath. Prisoners. That was her worst case scenario right there. Well, not strictly worst case – that would be everybody dying and Hydra winning – but it was pretty damned close. One hand drifted over the doomed mark that was right on her hipbone and she imagined she could feel it burning through her tac gear. It could be _today_.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Vernon rumbled. He didn’t look away from his scope. “Our _‘explode first, ask questions later’_ approach isn’t gonna fly if there are prisoners.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Darcy forced away the thoughts of her _supposed_ second soulmate. If she was Fated to engage in that cursed meeting today, so be it, but she had a job to do first. For the sake of her _real_ soulmate. Yeah, the one that was probably only going to be around for another couple years because he was going to sacrifice himself for the good of the free world. That one. Boy had she won the best couple of prizes in the soulmate stakes or what?

“Okay, listen up. Slight change. Vern, you and I are going to go make some noise at the West entrance, nice and loud. Once we’ve got the soldiers’ attention, Mac, I need you to sneak back to the East and catch the scientists. Hydra’s beginning to run low on eggheads now and intel says their new SOP is for the muscle to throw themselves into a fight and for the scientists to run away so they’ll be coming at you hot and fast. Stay hidden and take them one at a time as they exit. As soon as they’re gone, I want you in that lab cataloguing everything you can. Leave the lower floor and the prisoners until you meet up with me and Vern.”

McNamara nodded, no doubt already thinking about the data he needed to find. The kid was an organisational genius, could remember practically everything he ever heard or read and could find information faster than anyone else Darcy had ever met. Well, he was fast for someone in the 40s anyway, which was kind of a relief. The thought of Mac with the power of Google behind him was actually pretty fucking terrifying. Like, Pepper Potts level terrifying.

“What do you think they were using the prisoners for?” Vern asked. “Will they need medical? They’re shit out of luck if they do, closest safe house is near a day away.”

Darcy shrugged, _refusing_ to think of her words.

“We’ll do what we can, same as always,” supplied Mac. “Lily’s never let us down yet.” 

Slapping McNamara on the shoulders, Darcy slipped into work mode again.

“Alright, boys. Intel’s good, plan’s good, team’s good. We’ve got Hydra pretty fucked off with us right now on account of all the evil scientists we’re taking out of commission but after this one they’re going to be like, super pissed, maybe enough to draw out the Top Dogs. Muscles and guns can be replaced quick as but brains aren’t so easy to come by when your country is run by evil dictators who don’t believe in free and liberal education. We’re getting the Big Chief’s attention by hitting them where it hurts – right in the nerds.”

“By Odin’s glittery eye-patch,” grinned Vernon, beginning their ritual.

“And by Thor’s blessed bulging biceps,” continued McNamara.

Darcy beamed at her boys. “And by Loki’s ugly brass balls, let’s send these Nazi assholes back to Hel.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

The lab was in pandemonium. Steve stumbled forward on his new legs, new muscles bunching and shifting beneath his too tight trousers and feet that felt as big as barges, slipping as he took steps that were now too small for his enhanced frame. The scientists were huddling and screaming, Colonel Phillips was shouting orders, Agent Carter was shooting at Erskine’s killer who was trying to flee up the stairs. Steve took it all in with a flick of his eyes, his thoughts flashing through his brain at the speed of light. No one was going to catch the murderer in time, no one had stopped him stealing the last of Erskine’s formula, no one was close enough to stop his flight.

Steve’s new legs were moving before he’d even finished making up his mind and he tore up the stairs in pursuit. That man would not escape.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Up until now, Darcy’s team strategy was straight forward. Piss off the hierarchy of the Super-Secret Evil Science Club by exploding all their brain boxes, which had the additional benefit of ridding the world of revolting immoral geniuses who were using their intelligence for the dark side. HYDRA was imagination-impaired and the bunkers and laboratories her team trashed were all similarly designed and secured which meant for speedy infiltration. Considering Darcy’s overall scorched earth policy, once the team received their intel, destruction and mayhem were pretty much guaranteed.

Charles Vernon was a crazy son of a bitch, an adrenaline junkie through and through. He drew enemies to himself like a magnet, sometimes outright laughing in their faces before mowing them down with his dual subs, firing from both hips like some sort of giant futuristic berserker troll. He was brilliant at making noise.

Darcy, although crazy in many ways and technically yes, futuristic, was not a berserker troll. She would set up camp somewhere elevated and pick off any guard stupid enough to not die on Vernon’s initial charge. For small hits like these science bunkers where relatively small forces of enemy soldiers would come at them in pairs or trios, it was a fairly simple task for her and Vern to dispatch the bulk of the guards out the front before moving in to closer quarters.

Here Vernon would take a back seat and let Darcy lead. She was better than him at short range and CQC, shouldering her highly modified Lee-Enfield ( _Shut up, Howard, I KNOW it’s not American but I LIKE IT OKAY? Don’t blame Peg, it’s a GOOD GUN)_ and switching it for her sidearms or knives. Vern often complained that he felt like a walrus flopping about behind a kitten but that was just because he was a lard arse and couldn’t walk quietly to save his life. In fact, _didn’t_ walk quietly to save his life.

Usually McNamara would come up behind them, stealing documents and leaving behind a trail of explosives to destroy everything they wouldn’t take with them. Depending on what they found and where they were they’d either pass on the information to the French, Norwegian or Polish Resistance and then to Allied Command or find a way to radio through straight to London. It was important work and they were proud to do it and if it had the added benefit of weakening HYDRA before Steve and Bucky and the rest of the yet-to-be-formed Howling Commandos had to confront them, well, then that was nobody’s business but Darcy’s now, was it?

They had never encountered prisoners before. It had never come up and Darcy had gone weeks and weeks without thinking of her second mark.

_Please, Thor, not today._

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

“You’re a science experiment,” growled Colonel Phillips, his face stern and disapproving, his eyes twin bolts of cold anger. “I asked for an army and all I got was you. _You_ are not enough.”

The image in Steve’s memory of Colonel Phillips’ brutal dismissal layered over with another. A tired old apartment, dust in the air and Bucky’s soft grey eyes meeting his as he held Steve’s jaw in his gentle hands and whispered.

“ _You are enough, Stevie,”_

 

He accepted Senator Brandt’s offer.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

“ _Whistle While You Work_? Really Vern?”

“Hey, it’s my Ma’s favourite housework tune,” the big guy replied. Darcy was in front of him and couldn’t see his face but she could hear the grin anyway. “Besides, it’s too damn quiet in here,”

Darcy groaned. “Why would you even say that?”

Ignoring Vernon’s apology, Darcy continued to move through the bunker hallway, checking each room they passed. Hopefully McNamara was already in the labs on the Eastern side. The fight at the Western entrance had gone on for too long and one of the goons had been able to radio out before Darcy spotted him, so they’d no doubt have HYDRA hot on their heels in no time. So far they hadn’t encountered any guards within the bunker, lending weight to Darcy’s theory that HYDRA were throwing the muscle men at their enemies in order to give the more valuable scientists time to escape.

Movement from up ahead had Darcy crouched against the wall and readying her gun but it was only their third team member. McNamara nodded his head in greeting, stuffing a bunch of papers into his messenger satchel as he approached them.

“Scientist’s defensive SOP confirmed, all three tried to flee. Got them easy.” Mac answered to Darcy’s unspoken question.

“What do we have in the labs?” Darcy asked.

The young Agent’s nostrils flared in disgust and he flapped a limp hand at his satchel.

“Genetic experimentation. Definitely prisoners, a lot of them by the numbers.”

Vernon’s humming stalled mid-bar and Darcy felt her stomach try to fold in on itself. Genetic experimentation. Fucking hell.

“Right. Let’s get moving then.”

Darcy led her team towards the basement door. Mac had been right that it was indeed reinforced and locked up tight but with HYDRA reinforcements most likely on their way the team didn’t have time to go searching for a key. Praying that no one was too close to the other side, Darcy let Mac set a small charge on the hinge work that Vern gleefully exploded.

Before the dust could settle there was a roar of German swear words from the newly busted doorway and Darcy dropped to the floor as bullets flew above her. Aiming from the ground she shot one HYDRA guard in the throat while Vern turned a second guard’s head into strawberry jam.

“Make that fourteen guards,” McNamara winced.

Darcy motioned for Vern to kick the bodies clear of the doorway and took out a small flashlight from her belt to shine down the hazy basement steps. She couldn’t see any light switches so torch light would have to be enough. She waited until both her team mates had a light in one hand and a gun in the other, then proceeded first down the concrete steps with them close behind.

“Jesus, it’s fucking ripe down here. Smells like old dead to me,” Vernon said.

Without bothering to reply – all three of them were well acquainted with the smell of rotting dead by now, so it was unnecessary – Darcy crept down the steps. Their dim light beams revealed a room the size of a basketball court lined on both sides with iron barred cells. Their flashlights weren’t quite powerful enough to reach the far wall but from what they _could_ see, there was no movement from anywhere. She signalled for her and Mac to check the eastern row of cells and Vern to take the west.

It was a sombre task and even Vern was silent as they went about it. They shifted clumps of rotting straw and cloth that was stiffened with dried blood and excrement. The prisoners they found were long dead, Russian soldiers by the look of their ragged uniforms, and Darcy dutifully collected as many tags as she could. Heads shakes and frowns and weary sighs were all they needed to communicate with Vern across the way. Although she didn’t want to disturb the bodies and specifically hunt for them, Darcy made sure to take note of any soulmarks she saw, getting Mac to write them down in his book. She didn’t know if it was a relief to not see her own handwriting staring back at her from some unknown body or if she was merely delaying the horrible inevitability.

Eventually the trio came to the back wall where they found another reinforced door, this time sealed with a heavy iron crossbar instead of a lock. Darcy sent Mac out of the way by telling him to go down the western row to collect tags and marks, then raised her gun and flash light and signalled for Vern to lift the beam that barred the entrance. Once Vern lifted the crossbar and scurried aside, Darcy’s boot kicked open the door.

“ _Halt,”_ came a reedy, masculine voice from inside the room. “ _Tu mir… nicht weh,”   ((stop. don't hurt me))_

Darcy held up her hand to stop Vernon from rushing in.

“ _Wer bist du? Bist du HYDRA?”_ she asked _. ((Who are you? Are you HYDRA?))_ Her German wasn’t up for high society conversation and she certainly wasn’t proficient enough for a philosophical debate on thermonuclear dynamics but she didn’t think that complex language structure would be a problem right now. The voice sounded very weak. Regardless, her gun was still raised as Darcy slowly crept into the room. Behind her came Vernon’s flashlight beam, scanning the opposite direction to her own.

The lights revealed the white box shapes of laboratory storage, dotted with chrome and steel, but no sign of their mystery speaker. She inched further into the room.

“ _Nein… Bitte… Helfen Sie mir_ ,” _((No. Please. Help me))_

“Just as soon as I know you’re not going to kill us, buddy,” Darcy muttered, not bothering to translate it to German.

Now fully inside the lab, Darcy swung her light across an ugly medical table made of thick metal that was probably at least a century old. Huge leather straps held down its last victim at the ankles, knees, thighs, waist, lower and upper arms. Walking closer Darcy could see that all that leather was entirely unnecessary. The man was gaunt and pale and shivering so badly he probably could have been held down with a feather. She came up to his side and he opened bloodshot eyes to look at her.

“You speak English... British? American?” he asked in a thick Russian accent. Talking was taking a lot out of him, causing his adam’s apple to bob up and down with dry swallows. A surge of pity rose within her. This man was no threat, not as he was. He needed help.

“American,” Darcy replied. She started loosening the straps that held him down, freeing his upper body first. “Russian? Were you part of the unit held in the cells outside?”

The man’s head tilted sideways in a tiny shake. “ _Nyet_. I come after but they catch me,”

“Why did you come here?” Releasing the strap across his chest made him gasp, finally able to draw a full lung’s worth of air.

Vernon passed Darcy his water canteen and moved to undo the rest of the straps. She gently lifted the prisoner’s dark head and let a dribble of water run into his mouth until he signalled he’d had enough for now.

“My brother. He is captured so I come for him.”

Images of the bodies in the cells flooded her memory. “I’m sorry,” she said.

The ex-prisoner just nodded. There was no need to say anything more, not when the smell and the silence of the other room said so much.

“Lily, we’ve got company _en route_ ,” came Mac’s voice, drifting from the other side of the doorway. “Caught them on the radio,”

Darcy looked down at the man and bit her lip in thought. He was in no condition to fight. It would be a miracle if he could even walk unaided and like Vern said earlier, it was a long way to a safe house. As she was thinking, the prisoner caught her wrist in a surprisingly strong hold. Still keeping hold of her wrist, he sat up on the medical table and pierced her with intense green eyes.

“You fight HYDRA. Take me with you. I fight well, shoot well. For my brother.”

Vernon shrugged. “Your call, Lily.”

“What’s your name?” she asked, easing her wrist from his grip.

“Kolya Egorichev,”

“Alright, Kolya. If you can keep up, you can stay. If not we dump your arse at the next stop,”

That earns her a tiny smile, a wry thing that sparks at one side of Kolya’s mouth.

“I am Russian. Failure is not tolerated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howard can't stand that Darcy uses an English/Australian rifle instead of an American one but Darcy was taught by the SSR in London and shown how to mod it to her exact specifications. And for anyone who knows a sniper, they're apparently fussy bastards with their guns and are unwilling to swap once they've found their 'fit'. Or so I've been told. Her sidearms are American though.
> 
> "Whistle while you work" was an instant classic from the 1937 release of Snow White.


	18. Azzano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azzano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness gracious, we've made it past TEN THOUSAND hits! I can hardly believe it.  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! You inspire me every day to continue this little fic and I adore you for it.
> 
> Shine on, my crazy diamonds  
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Bucky’s voice joined the chorus of muttered expletives as the two and a half tonne military truck they were in launched itself through another series of pits and divots in the optimistically named ‘road’ and his hand clenched tighter around the bar behind him. On the bench next to him, squashed in so tight by the bodies of another twenty two soldiers that he was practically sitting on Bucky’s leg, Gowrey tilted his head back and groaned.

“Son of a bitch, I swear to God we’ll all be bounced brainless before we even get there,” he whined.

Bucky snorted. “It’s why they pack so many of us in ‘ere at once, stop us fallin’ out,”

“Reckon they’d let us join Jones and Farnden in the 92nd for a few days? I could say I was Gabe’s brother,” said Paul. As much as the trucks were hell on wheels, the all-black 92nd weren’t even given that, told to march the entire way across the Italian countryside and be grateful they were allowed to join the army at all. Assholes up top were all too eager to let them die for their country though, when the time came.

“With your pasty ass, Gowrey? Not a chance. ‘Sides, you’re too ugly to be related to Jones, so shut up a while and maybe we’ll make it to Azzano with brains still in our heads.”

“You’d need to have brains in your head to lose ‘em, Barnes,”

Bucky didn’t argue that.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

The very moment he was free Steve tore off his stupid mask, took off for his dressing room and collapsed against the door, breathing a heavy sigh of relief at another successful escape. How strange it was that a room like this, a room with mirrors surrounded by lights, and tall chairs and costumes and make-up had once made him sweat with nervous but giddy anticipation had now turned into a bolt hole of anxiety and depression.

 _This_ room was not full of the smell of lavender and the whisper of peach coloured satin. It didn’t fill his heart to bursting with poorly contained excitement, it didn’t come with the heady possibility of kisses from smiling scarlet lips or the sight of his familiar handwriting looping beneath black covered breast. This room didn’t come with bright, beloved laughter or eyes the colour of a deep lake in winter that warmed him with looks of care and acceptance and approval.

This room, like all the others he had been given on his tour, stank of loneliness and desperation and regret, and its four walls crowded him with its expectations and obligations. This room was a hollow victory, another reminder that Steve should be careful what he wished for, that Fate was as cruel as she was kind. Yes, he was contributing to the war but at what cost to himself? What would Lily say to see him now? What would Bucky say?

A firm knock sounded on the wood at his back and Steve shifted position to ask who it was and open up. Before he’d even got the first words out of his mouth, the opening widened just enough to let a slender blonde woman slip through and close the door behind her.

“Eugenie,” Steve blinked, surprised. He knew the names of the dancers in his troupe, of course he did, he wasn’t rude. However he did discourage interaction, merely smiling and waving to the gentler girls and distancing himself as much as possible from the worldly women who leered and joked and teased. They didn’t tease in the way Lily did, with honesty and reciprocity. They delighted in making him blush and stammer, howling their laughter at his embarrassment. Eugenie knew. She was one of the worst.

“Captain,” Eugenie drawled in her southern accent. She stepped closer to him and placed a palm on his chest. She had removed her gloves but still wore the rest of her stage ensemble, a tight blue bodice and a sinfully short skirt that showed off her long dancer’s legs. She wasn’t wearing her stockings, either, he noticed with a frown.

“Did you, uh… Were you wanting something?” he stammered, taking a step back.

Eugenie’s eyes flashed and she followed him, closing the space again. “Well sure I did, sugar. But I got a feelin’ you do too,”

“No? I, um, don’t want anything?”

She smiled up at him but her red lips were more devious than tempting. “Now I ain’t callin’ you a liar, Captain, but I know the look of a stallion’s been kept too long in the stables. And considerin’ the rumour Captain America ain’t got no soulmate and I ain’t seein’ no ring on that there finger of yours, I reckon I might be the cowgirl you’re needin’.”

Panic reared its ugly head and Steve’s mouth dropped open. He stumbled backwards, knocking into his dressing table.

“Um, no, that’s, uh, that’s not…”

Eugenie slunk forward like a tiger about to pounce, crowding into Steve’s body and wrapping her arms around his neck. The chemical odour of her hair resin stung his nostrils and he fought back the urge to rip the woman’s arms away. He didn’t want to hurt her but God he did not want this, didn’t want-

“Hush, sugar, Mama’s gonna take real good care of you,”

 The door slammed open, banging hard against the wall.

“Eugenia Montgomery, why am I not surprised?”

Steve let out a very unmanly sob of relief to see none other than one Agent Peggy Carter stroll into his dressing room in full military dress. She raised an eyebrow to him in question and he swallowed and nodded back. He was okay. Now.

Peggy turned her attention back to Eugenie. “Get out. Pack your bags. You’re on the next bus back to Texas.”

“You can’t fire me!” squealed Eugenie. In seconds she’d transformed from wily seductress to a trapped wildcat. “You ain’t got no right!”

Peggy smiled, a joyless curve of the sides of her mouth. Her eyes were glaciers.

“If you prefer I can tell Mr Peterson all about your night time engagements and your… situation,” she flicked her eyes down to Eugenie’s abdomen. “Then let Senator Brandt know you were trying to trap his star performer into a fatherhood that isn’t his?”

Eugenie’s face paled but she lifted her jaw in defiance. “I ain’t sorry. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta to survive and you of all people should know it.”

They watched in silence as Eugenie straightened her bodice and strode out of the room with her head high and slammed the door behind her. Steve let out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding.

“Thank you- ,” he began.

Peggy interrupted him with a wave of her hand. Her posture was stiff and formal, as though she was still angry.

“You need to pack as well, Steve. We’ve going to Italy.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

“Lily,” called McNamara. He’d set up his communication devices on a flat rock in the middle of their tiny campsite and currently held one side of the headset to his ear while waving for her with the other.

Darcy dropped the papers she was reading and walked over to him, her questions clear in her eyes.

“There’s a battle happening nearby. A big one, by the sounds of it.”

“Who?”

Vern and Kolya joined them, both frowning. Vern dropped to his haunches next to Mac, while Kolya crossed his arms and stood guard over them all. In the past few days Kolya had recovered far better than anyone had been expecting and with some proper food and water he barely looked at all like he’d been trapped and tortured. He was bulky and strong and never complained, no matter how hard Darcy pushed the team and after picking up some new gear and several weapons from the HYDRA soldiers they killed, he’d now taken over as the team sniper. His boasts had turned out to be true – he did fight and shoot well, plus he seemed unfazed by Darcy’s unconventional approach to small team leadership, which was always a bonus.

“Germans against Americans. Germans seem to have the upper hand.”

“American regiments?”

“Hang on... at least three, I’ll try to get numbers.”

Darcy made herself as comfortable as she could and took out her pocket knife to start cleaning her nails. They had no fire, no hot water for tea, revolting rations, had been wearing the same filthy uniform for two weeks straight and all four of them shared one pathetic excuse for a tent but damned if she would have dirt under fingernails if she could help it. There were _limits_ , after all.

As the afternoon wore on into evening, Kolya continued to guard them while Mac called out the progress of the battle. At one point just after dusk they all heard the static from the radio kick up and McNamara swore and started twisting the knobs on his kit.

“Something’s interfering with the transmission,” he explained. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to- ,”

An electronic squeal pierced the air. Scrambling to cover her ears, Darcy yelled at Mac who was doing his best to dismantle his comms to stop the radio screaming. Vern and Kolya both readied their weapons in case the noise drew enemies, eyes relentlessly scanning the surroundings. A moment later, quiet returned to their little clearing.

“I think that was HYDRA,” Mac whispered, his eyes as big as a goldfish. “I think HYDRA went into that fight,”

Darcy chewed her bottom lip, thoughts spinning behind her eyes so fast it blurred her vision. The timeline was right, goddamnit. She _knew_ that soon the 107 th would be taken and Steve would defy orders to liberate his best friend, every middle school student in America was taught that. Hell, its why she’d pushed her team this far south to begin with. And yet… now she doubted. Was this actually the right battle? Or would she be striking too soon and all her effort would be for nothing?

“Orders, Lily?” Mac asked. Kolya and Vern looked at her as well.

She swallowed, allowed herself one more moment of doubt, then cast it away.

“Mac, Vern, Kolya, I want you to take the documents we found and get them to Command. Leave from here and go south, as far as you can without stopping. Report in to the hierarchy with all the information you have then find Phillips and await new orders.”

“What about you?”

“I have a different mission. You worry about yours.”

The three men physically balked. Mac sat back on his heels with his mouth hanging open.

“You want us to split up and leave you?” Vern asked, his voice raising with incredulity.

“I am your superior officer and I gave you your orders, so yes, I expect you to do your duty and obey them,” Darcy replied, trying to sound as cold as possible. She didn’t like the idea of separating either, but she refused to take them anywhere near the shit fest that she knew was coming up. Besides, someone really _did_ need to get their information back to Command.

Vernon and McNamara were speechless but they didn’t put up a fight. They were good agents and they would obey their orders, this she knew. She could count on them.

“ _Nyet_.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Darcy got to her feet and faced Kolya.

He looked at her straight in the eye and repeated himself. “ _Nyet_. I do not go south. I go with you.” She started to protest, but Kolya cut her off. “I am not American army. I do not need to obey.”

“The hell you don’t!” Darcy snapped. “You either listen to me or you go your own way, buddy!”

Kolya’s shoulders lifted in a lazy shrug. He seemed entirely unperturbed by Darcy’s anger, which was just infuriating.

“You save me from the scientists when they are going to kill me. You give me back my choice. Now I use that choice. And I choose to follow you.”

 Stunned mute, Darcy could only stare at her Russian colleague. Vern and Mac both shut their mouths, wisely adding nothing but silence to the confrontation as they began to pack up Mac’s equipment and dismantle their tent. They would need to move immediately now they had the cover of night.

Darcy turned the idea over in her mind. Kolya was right, he wasn’t SSR and he was under no obligation to follow her orders. And if that meant he wanted to throw himself into battle next to her… well, she’d be stupid to turn it down. As much as she didn’t like it, it _was_ his choice.

“Fine. But if you’re coming with me, you’re following my orders from here on out, you get me?”

Kolya smiled, just a thin pull of his lips but it was enough.

The tension now dissolved, Vern grabbed Lily by the shoulders in a brutal bear hug. Only Thor had ever given her hugs as good as Vernon’s. He pulled back and gave her a watery grin, unashamed of the tears on his face.

“By Odin’s glittery eyepatch,” he began, his voice thick with emotion.

“And by Thor’s blessed bulging biceps,” continued Mac.

Kolya rolled his eyes. “And by Loki’s ugly brass balls,”

They all looked to Darcy, who was trying very hard not to cry. She was so proud of her boys, of what they had accomplished out here alone in the wilderness, the evil they had destroyed. Maybe the world would never know what her team did for them, but she did, and she loved them for it.

“And by Frigga who is the strongest of them all. Let’s send these Nazi assholes back to Hel.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Tamani for her assistance with this chapter. You're a goddess, sweetheart, and your Google-fu is amazing.


	19. At the Facility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the HYDRA weapons facility in the Alps where the 107th has been taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be emotions, people. Be warned! Be armed! Be hydrated!
> 
> My thanks to my new personal hero, Tamani, who has the crazy ability to combine academic study with creative output. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?  
> Also, shout outs to my favourite support squad who have been with me all along, you wonderful people who take time out of your day to comment and share your love. You are beautiful people and you are so amazingly generous to me. Thank you. Is it weird if I start calling you my sweet peaches? Cos damn you're good to me.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Tell me of this mission, why you walk into the serpent’s mouth,” asked Kolya in a low voice as the two of them slunk through the overgrown brushes off the main path through the mountains. They were getting closer now, she could tell because of the increase in soldiers on the road and the number of truck engines they could hear rumbling in the distance. By her estimation it would be maybe another three or four nights of tracking through the forest to get to the HYDRA facility, and every step took them higher into the mountains and the treacherous winter terrain. She was frozen and homesick and her mind was full of doubts. What she wouldn’t give for a magical Starbucks right about now. And Jane. And dry socks.

Darcy hesitated, unsure of how much she should say. Kolya was risking his life along-side hers so he deserved the truth, but how much would be too much? She decided to keep to the basics.

“We’re going to a HYDRA weapons facility. They’re using prisoners of war for labour and I want to free them.”

Kolya nodded, lifting his rifle and carefully stepping over a downed branch so as to not let the bark snap beneath his boots. “And the real reason?”

Damnit. She should have known better, Kolya wasn’t an idiot. Welp, time for gut-wrenching honesty. Maybe he’d realise it was a stupid idea and go home to his family.

“I have intel that my soulmate’s best friend is being held there. My soulmate will risk his life to save his friend, so if I can get there first I can save both of them.”

“This is a better reason,” Kolya replied, his voice warm with approval.

“It’s not a properly assigned mission,” Darcy continued. In for a penny and all that. “It’s not sanctioned, I mean, not by my bosses.”

Her team mate shrugged. “Sanction, _pah_. You save your soulmate and his friend. I avenge my brother. Who cares for sanction?”

“Also I want to kill Schmidt and his head scientists but realistically, we’re probably just going to shoot some guards and then die. It’s suicide, really, to take on the entire factory ourselves.” Darcy didn’t know if she was trying to warn Kolya away from coming with her or trying to make a joke. Maybe it was both. Maybe her whole _life_ was a joke. She honestly wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

“Crazy? Dangerous? Little chance to succeed? Now you sound Russian, _koshechka_.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

_Mortars rained down on them in a sick mimicry of falling stars, each one landing with its own earth shaking tremor that swept the ground from beneath their feet. In the darkness, the flash of muzzles and burning trees stood out like Christmas candles at the Park. Dirt and smoke clogged the air, filling up their lungs with more detritus than oxygen, stealing the force of their voices from them before they had a chance to scream._

_“Bucky behind you!”_

_He spun, aiming his rifle even as he still moved. Enemies were everywhere, overrunning their men, but they couldn’t radio out. No help was coming. They were alone._

 

He bolted awake with a scream still in his throat. Next to him, Dum Dum clutched him by the shoulder.

“Bucky, it’s alright. You’re awake now.”

Bucky sighed and with the back of his hand he wiped away the sweat that had gathered on his brow during his dream. No doubt he left behind a line of filth on his face but that was only to be expected. They were all covered in grime and oil, trapped as they had been now for nearly two weeks and forced to work until they dropped. With little food and no medical aid and forced to labour well beyond their physical limits, a lot of them dropped.

“Not sure being awake is less of a nightmare,” he grimaced.

Gabe Jones looked at him with a wry grin, his white teeth flashing in the dark. “Well for starters, if you were asleep you wouldn’t get to see the beauty that is my face now, would you?”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, because what else could he do? They were trapped, held here like rats in their tiny fucking cages, beaten and bloodied and exhausted. When they had first been captured there were hundreds of them but every day they grew fewer. Gowrey hadn’t made it through the forced march to the factory, falling to the side of the road just past the halfway mark. A bullet in his brain from their guard showed what would happen to anyone who thought of faking collapse. Farnden lasted a week or so longer, leaning on Gabe for support. Gabe did his best for his mate but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough for any of them, in the end.

Footsteps at the end of the cell hallway snapped him out of his reverie. The heavy thunk of a guard’s boots were followed by a soft shuffle and Bucky couldn’t help but flinch. He and Jones and Dugan all shared a look. The scientist was coming back for another prisoner.

Usually the scientist came once a day to collect a fresh victim. Sometimes if the screaming stopped too early the scientist would come back for another one in the same day but sometimes not. The last prisoner had managed to hold out for three days, screaming the entire time.

The scientist stopped outside their cell and pointed at Jones. “ _Dieser Mann_ ,”

The guard unlocked the cell with a long iron key and reached in.

“You can’t have him,” growled Bucky, shoving Jones to the back of the tight cell. It had been tighter when Farnden was still there, but even with one man less it was still cramped. Farnden’s ghost took up space too and Bucky wasn’t going to live with Jones’s ghost as well. Dugan moved his body the same as Bucky and soon they were both covering a half-hidden Jones behind them.

Something flashed in the scientist’s eyes and he muttered to his companion in German. Before Bucky knew what was happening, the guard changed course and grabbed his arm instead and dragged him forward. His legs wouldn’t cooperate and the guard wasn’t helping and his boots slipped and skidded as he tried to get to his feet after so many hours of sitting. Fear flooded his system and he fought, twisting and kicking, but the strong guard laughed and all he got for his efforts was a backhand to the face as the cell door clanged behind them. Dugan and Jones both called out but fear had made Bucky deaf to everything but the pounding of his own heart.

“You are a fighter,” remarked the little scientist from behind his circular glasses, his German accent thick and stunted. “This is good, _ja?_ We will see how long you fight for.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

“Your audience contained what was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured,” Peggy murmured, her voice nearly covered by the rain.

“The **_107 th_** _?”_ Steve gasped.

He was moving before he even registered he needed to.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

“Doesn’t look like we’ll be able to go that way after all,” Darcy murmured to her companion as they both crouched behind an enormous HYDRA tank (seriously, evil dudes, compensating much?) and scouted out the secondary guard house. Dozens of black armoured men armed with big shiny guns patrolled up and down both the path in front of the gate house and the parapet above it. The primary entrance was obviously a no-go as well, for similar reasons except multiplied because it was the primary entrance. She sighed. There were no gaps in the guard that she could see, so Plan C was going to have to be it.

“You use the air tunnels, yes?,” Kolya asked, reaching the same conclusion as she had.

Darcy groaned. She freaking _hated_ tunnels. Unfortunately with both gate houses so heavily guarded, the tunnels that supplied the intense air circulation required of a weapons manufacturing centre were now their best bet.

“ ** _We_** are going to use the air tunnels, yes.”

Kolya shifted position to face her with that subtle half-smile of his and she scowled. She had learned the hard way what that smile meant.

“You said you would follow orders, Kolya,” Darcy reminded him, her voice a low growl of warning.

He shrugged. “Yes, but I don’t like them so I am not following them.”

“ _Kolya!”_ she hissed.

“I am staying here. In thirty minutes I make a big noise like Vernon, _da_? You can go into the tunnels easily, I think, if I am noisy.”

Darcy grabbed his shirt collar and wrenched the taller man down so his face was inches away from her glare. He rolled his eyes and it made her angrier.

“That’s a stupid plan! You’ll die, you idiot!”

Kolya quit his eye rolling and focused on her. “ _Nyet_. You give me your rifle so I have two. I’m a sniper, I go hide a long way away, make a big noise and then I run. Okay _Mamochka_?”

“ _Ugh!”_ Darcy threw her hands up, then unslung her rifle from her back to give to him. “Fine! Go be a freaking hero, you Russian arsehole. But you better start running fast afterwards because I swear to Thor, if I find your corpse I am kicking it in the butt, you hear me? There will be no dignity for dead-you! I’ll draw on a terrible moustache with ink!”

Still smirking, Kolya accepted her rifle. “Thirty minutes, _koshechka._ ”

“Yeah, hero, I got it. Meet you at the closest Allied camp, yeah?”

“Odin. Thor. Loki. Frigga.” Kolya slowly intoned, his Russian accent giving the names a solemnity she’d only ever associated with churches and funerals. Then he met her eyes and in a soft voice she’d never heard him use before, he added “ _and_ _Lily,_ the strongest of them all.”

Darcy nodded ( _she did not cry_ ) and the two clasped hands. Then Darcy turned her back on her friend and snuck away to the tree line that would lead her to the tunnel entrance. It was time to get to work.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Bucky was in Hell. His Pa had been right, he was a sinner, he had sinned so bad and now the devil had come to collect his due. He had been waiting for it since he was old enough to know what sin was, when he realised he wasn’t a good boy like his Pa wanted, that he was evil and evil ran in his thoughts and in his blood and on his skin.

Another match flared in the darkness and he was lit up again, his body pulling itself taut against the restraints until every tendon ached like he had been put on a rack. Ants crawled beneath his skin, their bladed pincers eating him alive, piercing him over and over from the inside out and he howled in agony, howled for so long he didn’t remember starting.

A voice called to him from deep in the gloom and it was the voice of the devil, coaxing him and praising him and tempting him with promises to make the pain go away if only he would obey. He blocked out the devil’s voice and focused instead on the voices he would give anything to hear, Steve’s Brooklyn drawl or Lily’s smoky singing over the wireless. The devil grew louder, impatient with his weakness, with his body’s slow decay, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sergeant James Barnes…” he mumbled, well past the point of clear enunciation. “Three, two, five, five… seven, oh, eight, eight…”

The inferno beneath his skin was lit again and he screamed, his eyes flying open with shock and pain when just as suddenly as it started, it stopped and he could breathe. He heard the devil’s voice again only this time it wasn’t addressing him but someone else in the room. If he could just tame his racing heartbeat, perhaps he could hear…

“…heard you’ve been looking for me, _Nachtblüte_ ,“ the devil said, arrogance dripping from his words.

 “Only to kill you. Well, you and Schmidt,” came a second voice. It was harsh and cutting but still so familiar. It hovered just outside Bucky’s memory…

“It is such a shame, then, for you to come all this way just to be captured. Guards, grab her.”

“If you like,” the woman the devil called _Nachtblüte_ said. “But… Oh never mind. You probably wouldn’t want to test anything on me anyway. It’s not like you’ve been fucking salivating on getting your hands on me for like, three years or anything.”

There came a pause, then the devil dismissed his guards. “Speak, _Americanische Hure_. And hurry up before I call Schmidt and have him kill you.”

The strange woman, or the _Nachtblüte_ , or the American whore, whatever she was called, snorted. “Schmidt doesn’t want to kill me, and you know it. He wants to keep me like a trophy and turn me into his own princess double agent. If he wasn’t so obsessed with his war I’d expect limp posies and some terrible poetry confessing his love.”

Agent.

_Agent_.

Bucky’s memory whirred.

“But _you_ , Zola, wouldn’t be able to touch me then, would you? All those hopes and dreams of yours just dashed away like overly ambitious leaves in a stream of perpetually adolescent tears.”

“What do you want?” the devil snapped. He had lost his arrogance now.

Boots clicked on the floor, the woman coming closer. She stood above the head of the laboratory table Bucky was strapped to and placed her hands on his shoulders, two warm spots of safety in an ocean full of danger. If he strained his eyes he could twist his neck just enough to look up and see…

_Lily_.

“I want you to release this man and all others you have experimented on here and not touch any other prisoner in this facility.”

The devil laughed, short and harsh. “What are these men to you? They are nothing. Look at this one, he is dead anyway!”

He felt Lily shrug. “These are my terms. Accept them and I will be silent beneath your blades and tell Schmidt nothing about who I am. Don’t accept them and I will scream my name to every guard with ears. The legend of the _Nachtblüte_ grows with every telling, doesn’t it? Would you like to see how silent your loyal guards are if they know who I am and how much your leader wants me?”

“The legends are wrong, if you are such a fool as this. This man is a day away from death at most and still you try to save him? You are a killer, _Nachtblüte_ , not a saviour. However stupid you are in that though, you were right when you said I want to play with you. You show remarkable resilience and that… fascinates me. I accept your terms. Wait here and do not try to escape. My guards are still watching.”

Above him Lily stayed still until the shuffling footsteps of the scientist faded into the next room, then she immediately leapt to the side of the table and started pulling at his restraints. It struck him then that she was real, _this_ was real, she had come for him. He was caught and dying and Steve’s angel had come for _him_ , to _save him_. Another strap came free and he groaned as blood rushed to limbs that had been stuck for too long. Even though he felt like he was moving through molasses, he tilted his head to watch her move over his body, moving from strap to strap. She looked like she’d been through a hurricane and an earthquake combined, wearing stained combat fatigues and her hair pulled back in a harsh braid, but Bucky had never seen a dame look so fucking beautiful as Lily did right then. She was perfect, so fucking perfect and… what the fuck was he doing? Her conversation with the devil replayed in his mind and he sucked in a gasp as he realised that she had indeed offered to take his place on this torture rack in exchange for his freedom. His heart sped up again, banging frantically against his ribs like King Kong. She couldn’t. She _couldn’t._

He wet his lips and forced air through his voice box.

“ _You… you can’t save me, doll… They’ve held me for too long… I’m dyin’_.”

Lily froze, her fingers stilling next to the last strap across his ankles. Her head dropped forward on her chest and she let out a tiny moan.

“Lily, please… please don’t…”

Perhaps he hadn’t put enough air behind his words because she ignored him and pulled the last strap free. Then she came back up the table and smiled sadly at him, her lips chapped and her tears leaving streaks down her cheeks. She took hold of one of his hands and squeezed. Hope bloomed inside him. Was she going to listen to him? There was no way she could exchange her life for his, it wasn’t right, wasn’t _possible_. She wouldn’t.

“Please… just tell Steve…”

Lily leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“ _Bucky, when I see him, I’ll tell Steve you’re in love with him_ ,”

In a flash he was back in the inferno, his veins lit with flames of the sinner, the devil’s laughter mocking him from above.

Lily. It was Lily. _His soulmate was Lily._

His whole life those words had tortured him, condemned him, denounced him for the evil that lived inside him. He was so sure that the moment he found his soulmate she would cast him from her sight and destroy his entire world, reveal his deepest secret to all and sundry. He loved Steve, had loved Steve before he even knew what the word meant. He was _in love_ with Steve, in a world that would vilify and castigate him for even admitting the feelings, let alone following his heart and acting on them. And Steve… if he knew… God, for years he had been tormented by nightmares of his heart’s desire turning to him in horror, in hatred. He couldn’t live with himself if he ever saw that look of revulsion on Steve’s face, knowing it was directed at _him_.

And now…

“Lily… you’re…”

She sniffed, her lips shifting into a wobbly smile.

“Yeah, Bucky.”

“But… Steve…”

Her hand squeezed his and she huffed out a watery laugh.

“It’s a good things you boys have spent the last twenty years learning how to share, isn’t it?”

Soft shuffles grew louder and Bucky turned his neck around in time to see the devil… Zola… re-enter the room with a leather briefcase. The scientist set it on a nearby stand and opened it up to reveal a collection of glass vials and steel instruments.

“It is time for you to go back to your cell, Sergeant Barnes,” intoned Zola without turning from his task. “If you survive the night, I will be surprised, so enjoy your time as best you can.”

“No,” Bucky declared with as much strength as he could muster. Two guards came forward and with an arm around each of his they pulled him to his feet. “No!” he yelled again, desperate for someone, _anyone_ , to realise what a mistake this was.

Lily smiled at him and reached her arms up around his neck, which was awkward considering how he was dangling between the two guards. She held him in something approximating a hug and pressed her cheek against his, then stepped back again.

“Steve is coming, sweetheart. You’ve got to be patient and trust me, okay? He’s coming. We’ll be fine.”

“Lily, please, don’t do this,” Bucky begged, trying to pour his heart out through his gaze.

She smiled again and pat him on the chest. Something slipped from her hand into his pocket.

“Look after our boy for me until I get there, alright?”

“Take this waste of life away,” Zola demanded of the guards, flapping his hand. “I am a busy man.”

The guards dragged Bucky from the room, his weak body nothing compared to their combined strength and power. He screamed in outrage, the heels of his boots kicking against the concrete floor.

“Lily!”

**“ _LILY!”_**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> koshechka= kitten ((russian))  
> Dieser Mann = this man ((german))  
> Mamochka = mummy ((russian))
> 
> Nachtblüte = night blossom ((german))  
> Americanische Hure = American whore ((german))


	20. Rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve defies orders to rescue the prisoners at the HYDRA facility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my sweet peaches!
> 
> I totally warned you I would call you that but really, YOU GUYS ARE SO AMAZING. I'm feeling all the love. I'm also sending it right back at you beautiful people. Shine on!
> 
> For those of you who may be interested, the Goddess that is Tamani convinced me to join Tumblr: rubietulips.tumblr.com  
> Come shoot me a message and we can chat!
> 
> ALSO: I got a couple questions about the new chapter count. There'll be 22 chapters IN THIS SECTION, then I'll make a new work for the next section because all the tags are changing and I want it to stay relevant and not catch people out. SO please don't worry, there's more than a couple chapters to go.
> 
> ANYWAY that's my entry for the longest A/N.
> 
> Love, love, love  
> Rubie

 

* * *

 

 

 

_"They’re thirty miles behind enemy lines through some of the most fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save but I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl.”_

Colonel Phillips was right. Steve _was_ a chorus girl. Bucky had marched and stood and fought and maybe even died while Steve had been on stage twirling and doing stunts in his shiny blue tights instead of being next to Bucky when his best friend damned well needed him the most. But not anymore. Colonel Phillips might not have a plan to rescue the captured soldiers but that didn’t mean that Steve had to be content sitting back and twiddling his thumbs. Bucky could be out there hurt or captured. Bucky _needed_ him. And he was going to do whatever the hell it took to get him back, Phillips be damned.

Storming around the USO’s temporary storage room to gather the things he’d take with him, Steve barely gave a thought to Agent Carter who had followed after the disastrous meeting with Phillips. She watched on as he threw equipment in a bag, wrapped himself in a leather jacket and donned a blue helmet. He hadn’t even changed out of his rain soaked costume, too impatient to move.

“What do you plan to do? Walk to Austria?” Peggy asked.

“If that’s what it takes.”

 “You heard the Colonel, your friend is most likely dead.”

“ _You don’t know that_ ,” Steve snapped. He wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t. He grabbed up his steel shield and made to stalk out of the room when suddenly the tarpaulin door-flap was thrown back in his face, forcing him backwards.

“Peggy! Just the pretty lady I was looking to see,”

Howard Stark pushed past Steve to stand in front of Peggy, completely ignorant of the scene he was interrupting. Peggy stood there with her mouth hanging open, her hair wet from the rain and her clothes rumpled from her dash across the courtyard but she may as well have been invisible for all the attention Stark gave her appearance. He barely acknowledged Steve, who hesitated when he saw the look on Peggy’s face. She was _livid_.

“Howard, what are you _doing here?”_ Peggy grated out from between her teeth.

In response to Peggy’s question, the millionaire merely waved a rather creased and worn piece of paper in her direction. She took it from him and her eyes skimmed across the lines, a frown leaving deep creases between her eyebrows.

“But this doesn’t make any sense,”

Howard shrugged, nonchalant as always. “Don’t ask me, doll face, I’m just doing what I was told. Apparently it was extremely important I keep an appointment in the middle of nowhere, Italy, _today_. I even had Jarvis remind me of it.”

“And since when do _you_ do what you’re told?”

“Look at the date on that note, Peg, and you tell me.”

Peggy gasped. She read over the note again with the new information in mind and opened her mouth to say something, then quickly closed it again after looking over to where Steve waited. She may have been a secret agent, but Peggy Carter was no actress and between her facial expression, Howard Stark’s declaration and the appearance of a mystery note that contained information it probably shouldn’t, Steve could put the dots in line easily enough.

“Lily.” His voice was flat. It wasn’t a question.

When Howard went to reply to Steve’s pronouncement, Peggy stomped on his foot and glared. “Not a word, Stark. You know we can’t.”

“The kid’s practically family, Peg,” Stark argued. “Sarah-,”

“ _Not a word,”_ she repeated, clasping her hand over the engineer’s mouth faster than if he was about to cuss in front of a priest.

“Fine,” Steve growled, growing more frustrated by the minute. He could deal with this later. “If that’s all, I have somewhere I need to be.”

Peggy looked at the note again, then back at Stark. With her other hand still covering his face, Stark could only lift an eyebrow at the paper and glare at her, then when a look of understanding dawned on Peggy, he rolled his eyes and huffed out through his nostrils like a petulant child.

“Actually, Steve, it looks like someone’s organised you a ride.”

“I’m sorry, what?” he replied.

Howard dragged Carter’s hand from his lips. “Lily’s still out with Project Perennial but she knew you’d need a lift, kiddo, so here I am. Get a flight kit, we’re going up.”

“ _Stark!”_

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

He didn’t die overnight like Zola had predicted. Or the next day, actually. Or the following one either.

However, even though he was alive Bucky couldn’t remember much at all from that time. His world was hazy and it narrowed down to his stuttered heartbeats, the musty darkness of the cell, the painful burning under his skin and the unintelligible murmurs of his friends as they tried to calm him and stop him drawing too much attention from the guards. He spent a lot of time calling out in pain. Whatever Zola had done to him had left him with lingering aftershocks, not as agonising as the original torture but enough, especially considering how weak he was. He was feverish and babbling and incoherent. His cell mates did what they could to help him, giving him their water rations when he was sweating out his own and their shirts when he shook from the cold, protecting him from the worst of it with their own body heat. They confessed afterwards that as pleased as they were that he survived, at the time nobody expected him to pull through.

He drifted between reality and fantasy, dreaming of Steve and Lily, especially Lily. He dreamed that she came for him, held him in her arms and protected him from the pain, whispering love and promises in his ear. In his dreams she smiled that radiant, stage-show smile just for him and promised him a future with her, him _and Steve_ , all three of them loved and all three of them _together_.

 _Steve is coming_ , _Sweetheart,_ the dream Lily whispered. _Trust me_.

Oh how he wanted to. How he wanted to believe every word her lovely visage whispered, wanted to lay back and rest knowing she would make everything better just the same as she had done for years now. That she was _his_ guardian angel as much as Stevie’s, that she would work her own brand of miracles to save _him_.

However each time he opened his eyes he was back in the cell and the cold, painful reality of his situation struck him and the dream remained a dream. He felt sick with guilt when he realised that even on his deathbed he was coveting his best friend and his best friend’s soulmate. He tried to ignore the gaping, jagged Steve-and-Lily shaped holes in his heart and prayed that they were both safe back in New York, far away from the war, finally together in the shitty Brooklyn apartment or maybe a fancy one if it was Lily’s. He wouldn’t have to worry about looking after Steve anymore because Lily would be there and she had always looked after Steve, ever since that first tin of peaches.

When his friends were called away to the factory floor, Bucky expected the guard to put a bullet in his brains. He was too weak to even stand on his own legs let alone assist with the machines and everyone knew what they did to workers who couldn’t work. But even though the guard sneered German insults and spat on him, no bullet came. He was kicked to the very back of the cell and left to lay there alone, shivering with deprivation and pain. He passed out for hours until night fell again and his friends returned, shaky and exhausted, to slump in the cell with him.

“Hey champ, glad to see you awake,” smiled Gabe. Relief shone in his eyes and it was clear that when he said ‘awake’ he meant ‘alive’.

Bucky rolled on to his back, curling his legs a little bit in the cramped space. “Yeah,” he scraped out. “Too fuckin’ stubborn to die, I guess.”

Dum Dum let out a low chuckle. “Good thing too. Need to get back home to your missus,”

“Fuck’s sake… how many times…  I ain’t got no girl.”

Dugan and Gabe exchanged a look before Dugan spoke again.

“Who’s this ‘Lily’ then? Because you sure did ask for her a lot the last couple days.”

Bucky gasped. He pushed himself up on wobbly arms, frustrated when Gabe leaned over and helped. He glared at them both.

“Lily is my best friend’s girl, you assholes, so kindly shut the fuck up and don’t mention her again.”

At his growled pronouncement, his cell mates fell silent. Stuck in Hell for three weeks now they were well aware of what it was to crave something they couldn’t have.

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

They were thousands of feet in the air over the mountains with Peggy giving Steve her last minute advice when Howard Stark interrupted her, turning his head from the front of the plane.

“If we’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late night fondue,” he smirked, his words dripping with suggestion so thick that even Steve could catch on to it.

Peggy didn’t bat an eye, just kept describing the nearby terrain.

“Or we could head to the Alden in Zurich? It’s no Imperial but it’s still got a great pool. No trunks, though,”

This time Peggy’s lips thinned but she still didn’t respond. Instead she handed Steve his transponder and explained how it worked.

“We could order up a few Knödel- ,”

“I know what you’re doing, Howard, and it’s not going to work,” Peggy snapped, a lethal edge to her tone. “Unlike some, I can keep state secrets,”

Up in the cockpit, Howard snorted with laughter. “Don’t know what you mean, cookie. Fondue, night time swims and Knödel are absolutely all _my_ favourite things, definitely not the favourite activities of certain well known -,”

“Time to go!” called Peg, pulling on Steve’s jacket.

He was already free falling out of the plane by the time he figured out what Stark was talking about. As his feet were brushing the treetops, Steve resolved to have words with the millionaire as soon as he and Bucky got back.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

He’d chased a HYDRA truck, jumped onboard and taken out the soldiers inside. He’d sneaked through the gate check, knocked out the soldier at the truck docking bay, avoided the spotlights, dodged the sentries and hid between gigantic black tanks the like of which he’d never seen before. He climbed a building, squirreled in past a barely guarded doorway to the factory and took out more sentries, all of that was fine. But now on a factory floor bigger than a football field and facing a truly enormous stockpile of strange, glowing machinery and unknown weapons, Steve wondered if perhaps he had been a little impulsive in his decision to storm the facility on his own.

He found a piece of machine component that glowed that same strange blue colour as the weaponry and pocketed it to give to Howard later. Then he hurried on, hoping that HYDRA would have stored the prisoners near to where they were forced to work.

Sure enough the double story cell block was right next door. Steve’s luck held when he found it poorly guarded as well and he had no difficulty disabling the guards and grabbing the keys. Whispers came from the cages around him and Steve locked eyes with one large dark skinned man.

“Just who are you supposed to be?” the man demanded.

Steve froze. What could he say to that? He wasn’t a proper soldier, didn’t have a regiment.

“Um… Captain America?”

“I beg your pardon?”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Steve spun from cage to cage, scanning every face he could see as he twisted loose the locks that would grant them freedom. He was desperate to see the familiar flop of dark brown hair he had known since childhood, desperate to find those well-loved grey eyes smiling back at him, hale and whole. Finally he came to the last cell in the row which held the dark skinned man he spoke to before and now Steve could see his uniform he recognised the man as a Private in the US army.

“Is there anybody else?” Steve begged, his stomach twisting in on itself. “I’m looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.”

The man grimaced. “He’s… he’s not great,” he said, before turning to the side to reveal a green and khaki coloured lump on the floor at the back of the cell. Beside him sat a huge man with a bowler’s hat and a thick moustache and a uniform that marked him as another Sergeant.

Steve launched into the cage and fell to his knees next to where Bucky lay. He was alive, thank God, but that was the best that could be said. His eyes were open and glassy, his face pale beneath the filth that covered it, and his whole body trembled. Steve swallowed down a sob and grabbed Bucky’s clammy hand.

“He was taken away for a few days to the lab. He came back five days ago and we thought he was getting better but he’s had another turn.”

Practically hearing the sound of his own heart breaking, Steve grit his teeth. He would get revenge soon enough, but right now Bucky was more important. Smoothing Bucky’s hair away from his forehead, Steve ran his hand down to cup Bucky’s jaw and gently turned his face.

“Bucky, it’s me, it’s Steve. I’m here.”

“Steve?” Bucky slurred, his eyes blinking too fast. “Steve… Lily… Lily’s here,”

He inhaled sharply. “Lily?”

The man with the bowler’s hat looked at him. “You know Lily?”

“Yeah, she’s... she’s my soulmate,” Steve answered, confused. “Bucky, what do you mean Lily’s here?”

“He’s been going on about her for a couple days now,” the Private explained. He was looking at Steve with an odd expression. “Keeps thinking she’s going to come rescue us all, calls her a guardian angel,”

Tears pooled in Steve’s eyes. What he wouldn’t give to have Lily there as well, but Stark had just told him she was off on her own mission still. Project Perennial or something. They’d have to get through this without her. And on that thought, they’d have to get going quick before Steve’s infiltration of the facility was discovered. Steve turned his attention back to the rescued men who were all waiting for orders as though he held in truth the authority that he had been labelled with on stage.

“The tree line is north west, eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give them hell.”

As the men poured out down the corridor, Steve turned back to Bucky. His friend was still looking up at him with those beautiful grey eyes glazed and confused.

“Lily… Lily…”

“She ain’t comin’, Buck, she ain’t here,” he comforted. “She’s gone on her mission, remember? She’s miles away, I promise,”

Bucky clutched at him with trembling hands. “No, the… the lab. _Please_ , Steve,”

“We’ll check it out, Buck,” Steve said, blessing his new strength and lifting his friend into his arms. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here,”

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Three days later, four hundred rescued prisoners of war followed Captain America as he strode in to the Allied camp to thunderous cheers and applause. Bucky walked beside him, protecting his left flank and beaming at his best friend with all the pride of a mother bird when her baby learns to fly. Steve didn’t notice that all of Bucky’s smiles were only when he could see them, that when he turned away Bucky would sink in on himself like he was a balloon that had been deflated. And when Steve asked about it, Bucky refused to talk about the time he’d spent in the laboratory or afterwards, always changing the subject or deflecting with a joke. He didn’t mention the vivid dreams of Lily and avoided the subject of Steve’s soulmate altogether.

Colonel Phillips decided Steve didn’t need to surrender himself for disciplinary action, which was about as good as awarding him a medal of honour and introducing him to his mother. Steve took it for the win it was and was assigned new duties. He wouldn’t be going back to the USO tour, Senator Brandt be damned.

All the former prisoners reported everything they’d seen in the factory, and Steve was able to give incredibly detailed descriptions even of things he’d only managed a glimpse of. They discussed the weaponry and equipment and Steve gave Stark the strange glowing component. Additionally, when Steve and Bucky stormed the facility laboratories Steve had seen a map that showed the position of other HYDRA factories and was able to replicate their position on the SSR maps down to within five miles. The two friends didn’t talk about how Steve was only in the laboratories because in his feverish madness Bucky insisted Steve go looking for Lily, how he was sure Lily would be there. They especially didn’t talk about how she _wasn’t_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know in this scene in CA:TFA I always wondered like, where were all the scientists? Why were Schmidt and Zola the only scientists there? They're working on intense new weaponry, where are all the engineers and chemists?? They're experimenting on humans, where are all the biologists and doctors?
> 
> Answer: Darcy already killed them.


	21. Winter 1944 - SSR headquarters London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky return to London to form the Howling Commandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear sweet peaches,
> 
> Please have ice cream and/or chocolates nearby when reading this chapter.
> 
> I love you all forever and ever and ever!
> 
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

For the entire meeting Steve had given more attention to his friend across the other side of the table than to whatever it was Colonel Phillips was telling them. He knew he should be listening, but he also knew something was wrong with Bucky and he was far more concerned with his best pal than Phillips’ reports on the current Allied air force rally point in Sicily. Something had upset Bucky, had shaken him to his core and even though Steve knew that what Bucky had gone through with at Azzano and at the Hydra facility was terrible and definitely likely to cause all sorts of psychological damage, he couldn’t help but think it was something else, something more. Something personal.

To all the others, the SSR Agents and the bunch of soldiers Steve had collected together into a team that now called themselves the Howling Commandos, Bucky was a suave charmer with a quick sense of humour and a quicker wit. He was always ready with a smile and a smirk and flirted with the ladies as easily as breathing. To Steve, however, something was wrong. Bucky’s smile didn’t linger as long, didn’t reach his eyes often enough. He watched his friend closely and he could see the strain Bucky was carrying on his broad shoulders, how despite the laughter and the camaraderie Bucky held himself apart from his teammates. Held himself apart from Steve.

“He knows you watch him, you know,” Agent Carter murmured as the meeting came to a close and the aides began shuffling together papers to return to their files.

Steve startled. He hadn’t realised he’d been so obvious. He waited for the room to empty, watched Bucky’s half-hearted smile at Jim Morita’s joke before turning back to Peggy.

“I’m worried,” he admitted. Perhaps the SSR Agent would be able to shed some light on the situation.

Peg hummed in agreement. “With what he has been through, I’d be concerned if you weren’t.”

“It’s not just that… He’s different. Like he’s… he’s- ,” Steve huffed, struggling to find the words. How could he explain that he knew the difference between Bucky’s smile and _Bucky’s_ _smile_? The difference between Bucky’s laugh and the laugh that made the whole world want to join in just to share a moment with James Buchanan Barnes?

“Is he your- ,” Peggy cut herself off by snapping her lips shut and turned her face away, her cheeks pinking in the low light of the meeting room. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“You helped me disobey orders and fly a plane into enemy space. I’m pretty sure that puts us on friendly terms,” Steve smiled. “Ask away.”

Peggy’s eyes met his and they were warm with feeling. When she spoke, her voice was gentle and low. “I know common consensus has it that Captain America has no soulmark… But is Sergeant Barnes your soulmate? Is that why it’s kept hidden? Because your soulmate is a man?”

Steve would have laughed if he could be sure it wouldn’t come out bitter. How much easier would his life have been if Bucky was his soulmate? Yes, he’d have to hide it but he had to hide now that his soulmate was Lily, so that was no difference. What would he have given to have grown up beside Bucky with _his_ words marking Steve’s pale skin? For Steve to see his own mark on _Bucky’s_ skin? It was a familiar fantasy, one of his favourite dreams since childhood that was as forbidden as it was cherished. He loved Lily, idolised her, _adored_ her. She was everything anyone could ever want in a soulmate and Steve knew he was damned lucky to be the man the Universe had chosen for her. But Bucky… Bucky was a part of him, as vital as any organ. He couldn’t imagine ever living without Bucky Barnes at his side. Whoever it was who bore Bucky’s mark carried a blessing.

“No,” Steve shook his head, a sad smile gracing his lips. “No, he’s not my soulmate or my secret lover. He’s my friend.”

Peggy watched his face, searching for a moment before smiling back. “You went to great lengths for a friend, Steve. The world would have us believe that such a connection can only occur through a mark,”

“Then the world is wrong. You don’t need a mark to know love.”

Peggy’s smile widened, showing her white teeth against her ruby lipstick.

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Steve was already loosening his Class A tie when he pushed open the door to his London quarters later that night. He froze midway through when he saw Bucky waiting for him, slumped in his chair and leaning his elbows on Steve’s desk. A nearly empty bottle of tequila was next to him as well as two tiny tin cups that looked suspiciously familiar, one full, one empty. At his entrance, Bucky didn’t look up, just kept playing with a small object he held between his fingertips. His jacket and tie were slung over the end of Steve’s bed, his top shirt buttons were undone and his usually carefully combed dark hair was a mess like he had continually been running his hands through it. Cautiously, Steve continued into the room.

“Bucky?” Steve asked. He removed his own jacket and hung it up on a hanger behind the door. “What are you doing here?”

Steve pulled up the only other chair in the room so he was sitting next to his friend, who continued to ignore him. He would have been half convinced Bucky didn’t even know he was there if Bucky didn’t flatten his hand on the desk, trapping the small object beneath it and hiding it from view. His other hand picked up the tiny cup and he downed it with a single swallow.

“Bucky?”

“I should be dead,” Bucky whispered. His voice was broken, grating through his throat as though he’d smoked a dozen cigars. “I shouldn’t be alive.”

“That’s not true, Buck. You’re a survivor. You fought tooth and nail and you survived.”

Bucky coughed out a harsh laugh. “No,” he argued. “No one who went to that lab came back. We were there for weeks, Steve, and none of them ever came back. _Not one_.”

“No one except you. You did.”

Bucky turned his head to meet his gaze and Steve choked down a gasp when he saw Bucky’s haunted, red rimmed eyes. He looked like he’d been crying for hours.

“She saved me, Steve. I was dyin’ and she came and she saved me.”

“Are you talking about Lily? Cos I told you, she wasn’t there. We _looked_. She wasn’t there, Buck, it was a dream.”

Bucky skidded his chair back and lurched to his feet, crossing the room only to turn and stalk right back to stand in front of Steve’s chair. He was unsteady but if it was because of the tequila or his emotions, Steve didn’t know. Bucky glared down at him through his hair with an expression tinged with madness.

“She. Was. There.” Bucky growled. He slammed his hand down on the desk and lifted it to reveal a slender gold band. “She gave this to me when she saved me, hid it in my pocket. _She was there._ ”

All the air rushed out of Steve’s chest, leaving a gaping cavity that had once been his soul at the sight of the familiar circle of gold.

With shaking fingers, Steve reached over and picked up the gold ring. Even as he turned it into the light he knew the inscription that would be revealed. He knew this ring. It had been on his mother’s finger every day and every night for twenty two years, and he himself had placed it onto Lily’s when she promised him the future.

Lily had been at that facility. She saved Bucky. And Steve hadn’t believed him.

Panic struck, hot shards stabbing his guts. Was she safe? Had she survived the explosion? He should have stayed, should have listened to Bucky, should have searched harder…

Tears streamed from his eyes and he couldn’t even raise enough thought to dash them away. He looked at Bucky, his questions clear. _Tell me_.

“She saved me. She knew, somehow, that Zola had me. Zola and Lily… they knew each other. Knew of each other anyway.” Bucky drew in a deep breath and sat down in his seat at the desk again, pouring tequila into both of the little cups in a wobbly stream. Only once the bottle was re-capped did Bucky turn his gaze back, his slate eyes brimming with guilt.

“She… she _bargained_ , Steve. Zola and Schmidt, they’re the ones who’ve been hunting her all this time and she knew it and she _bargained_. She… she took my place, Stevie. Set me free.”

No.

No, it wasn’t _possible_.

Steve _knew_ how hard Lily had fought to stay one step ahead of her enemies, what she had sacrificed for her freedom. She was a spitfire, she was a fighter. She would _never_ surrender, never let herself be captured without one hell of a fight.

But she was loyal and brave and selfless. And if Bucky’s memory was right and he had been close to death…

“What happened?” he heard himself ask, his mouth working even though his mind was stuck.

Bucky stared at him for long moments, his eyes wet and his lips pinched. He grabbed the tequila cup and downed it, then stood right in front of Steve and began unbuckling his belt.

“I’ve kept this covered for more’n twenty years. So long I didn’t even recognise her damn handwriting,” Bucky growled. He grabbed the waistband of his trousers and shorts and the bandage beneath and shoved them all down far enough for Steve to get a glimpse of loopy script on Bucky’s hip. Lily’s loopy script. “It’s gone black. She said my words, Steve.”

_Bucky, when I see him, I’ll tell Steve you’re in love with him_

Steve’s mouth dropped open, his eyes fixed on the declaration in front of him while his mind whirred, trying to make sense of it all. Lily, Bucky’s soulmate. Lily, _his_ soulmate. And Bucky… in love with _him?_ Was that… was that even true?

“I don’t… I don’t… ,” he began, his tongue slipping around words that wouldn’t form.

Bucky cut him off, tugging his clothing back into place with a harsh pull. His fingers trembled trying to do up his belt. “It’s alright, Steve, I get it. You don’t owe me nothin’, don’t gotta say a word. I’m the freak who’s in love with his best pal and his best pal’s missus, tryin’a steal something that ain’t mine.”

Steve slowly rose to his feet, taking advantage of the distraction caused by Bucky’s uncooperative belt to step closer, right into Bucky’s space.

“Bucky,” he murmured. “Did you mean it?”

Like a rabbit in headlights, all of Bucky’s movements stopped. He looked up, his gorgeous eyes swimming with an emotion Steve couldn’t name but really wanted to call hope.

“Yeah,” Bucky swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yeah, I did.”

Steve pounced, one hand covering Bucky’s on his belt buckle and the other reaching behind the other man’s neck to drag him in to a scorching kiss, their lips meeting with hard, reckless passion. Before Steve could question his impulse, Bucky groaned and clutched at Steve’s hip then shoved him backwards towards the bed, his mouth nipping Steve’s bottom lip hard enough to draw a moan. When the back of Steve’s knees hit the edge of the mattress, Bucky pushed again and they both fell backwards, Steve first and Bucky falling on top of his chest, their thighs tangling between each other’s.

Bucky kissed him again, rough and strong and so unlike Lily’s sweet softness but so full of feeling he thought he would burst. Steve tilted his head and let his lips fall open like Lily had shown him and Bucky surged forward to take advantage, kissing him deep and fierce like his very sanity depended on it. Steve’s hands roamed Bucky’s shoulders, his arms, his neck, anywhere, desperate to touch, to _feel_. Bucky’s low gasps and sighs against his skin spurred him to further action, scraping his nails along the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Stevie…” Bucky panted, moving to kiss Steve’s jaw, his throat. “God, _Stevie…_ ”

“Want you, Buck,” Steve confessed. “Always have,”

Groaning again, Bucky shifted so their hips aligned and rolled his pelvis, making Steve gasp at the unexpected friction. Bucky dropped his head to Steve’s collarbone and rolled again, and a shiver went through him.

“Steve… Lily?”

“Ngh… If you think she hadn’t figured this out before us… you’re stupider than I thought,”

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Bucky was sitting on top of Steve’s desk in just his shorts, with a cigarette hanging from his lips and Lily’s ring spinning between his fingertips when Steve woke. He sat up and stared straight at Bucky, watching the way doubt and guilt flickered over his friend’s face before setting his jaw like he had before every fight of his life.

“We’re gonna get her back, Buck,” Steve declared. “No matter what, we’ll get her back.”

Bucky dropped his chin to his chest and gripped the little ring in a tight fist.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I know.”

Steve rose from the bed and crossed the room to hold Bucky’s face in his hands.

“I swear it. If we have to dismantle every HYDRA facility in Europe, _we will get her back_.”

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end now! Just a reminder, I WILL BE WRITING ANOTHER SECTION. This is just near the end of THIS section.
> 
> Thank you again, sweethearts. You make my heart sing.


	22. Valkyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1944-1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you beautiful people! Just a couple things.
> 
> 1) Thank you, thank you THANK YOU for coming with me on this road trip of feels. You're so amazing and I feel truly blessed to have had such encouragement and support while writing.
> 
> 2) THIS IS NOT THE END. There will be another work for all the stuff post 1945.
> 
> 3) The sections of this chapter take place over a one and a half year period, starting out in early 1944 and ending in late 1945. I haven't added in the scenes from CA:TFA because we pretty much all know what happened and I don't want to bore you by rehashing.
> 
> 4) my tumblr is rubietulips.tumblr.com Come say hi!
> 
> 5) I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL SO FREAKING MUCH!!!! Go eat a huge bowl of peaches and ice cream and enjoy every mouthful.
> 
> See you in the next section  
> Rubie

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It is just you and I now, _Nachtblüte,_ and nobody is left to hear your secrets. Tell me your name and number, I want to hear you scream it,” smirked Zola.

She snarled in response. “Admiral Lilith Liquorice. One two three four five, once I caught a fish alive.”

“Keep fighting me, _Nachtblüte_. It makes it so much sweeter when you sing.”

The first shock was excruciating, splitting every nerve in her body. Nothing had prepared her for this. The SSR’s anti-interrogation training was clearly bullshit and she would be filing a complaint with Phillips the minute she got back to London. Lightning tore her apart and white hot fire soldered her back together as she lived through a nightmare worse than she had ever imagined could be possible.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

This time they were in Rosenheim, south-east of Munich and the facility was another weapons manufacturing plant. The Howling Commandos tore it apart, obliterating everything they could get their hands on and killing anyone who stood in their way but there was still no sign of Lily. Morita and Falsworth hunted for intel they could use while Dernier set the explosive charges that would level the building upon their exit. Leaving Dugan and Jones on watch duty, Bucky grabbed Steve by the arm and pulled him into a nearby store room. His face lined with fatigue and disappointment and his blonde hair hanging in his eyes, Steve was passive as Bucky closed the door behind them to give them a rare moment of privacy.

“It’s not your fault, punk,” Bucky started. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Finally out of sight of the others and away from the mantle of Captain America, Steve crumpled and collapsed to his heels, dropping his face into his hands. In the six months they’d been searching Europe, Bucky had never seen his best guy so down, so haunted. So close to giving up hope. He knelt next to Steve and pulled him in for a rough embrace, kissing him on the crown of his dirty blonde hair. Steve stilled for a tense moment, then wrapped his arms around Bucky and just _broke_. Bucky held him close, gripped him tighter, while heart wrenching sobs wracked Steve’s broad frame, pouring out of him in torrents of gut-piercing grief and loss.

“She’ll be okay, Stevie,” Bucky whispered. “She’s clever and strong and she’s been at this game longer than you and I put together. She was already operating before we even knew HYDRA existed.”

Steve drew in a ragged breath. “What if… what if we can’t find her because she’s already gone, Buck? What if we’re too late?”

“Not possible,” he declared, letting his chin drop on top of Steve’s head. He refused to let Steve’s question gain traction, refused to let it join the other doubts he’d hidden far at the back of his mind. “Either she’s being held somewhere, which means we can find her, or she’s already escaped. She’s gone dark in Europe before, she knows how to lay low. Probably hiding out in some fancy hotel somewhere penning letters to Stark and scamming tourists out of their poker money,”

Steve snuffled in a soggy chuckle and squeezed his arms to hug Bucky in return. “Yeah. She’s resourceful.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, pal. I ever tell you the time she smuggled me booze in Sicily when the post was suspended?”

“Tell me again,”

A knock came at the door and Bucky let Steve pull away from him, watching as Steve hid all the love and hope and doubt and worry that made him _Steve_ and don the weighted persona of Captain America once more. The door opened a crack and Morita slipped his head through.

“I’ve found something. Looks like Zola’s going to be catching a train through the Alps.”

 

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

“Name and number.”

“Agent Lily Evergreen, never-white, seldom-red… One two buckle my sho-”

Her body arched off the slab and she screamed herself to death only to be brought back again and again _and_ _again_.

“ _Name and number_ , _Nachtblüte_.”

“Ever… Evergreen… Never-white… Seldom-red… Seven f-f-f-our…”

Oh God the pain. The pain.

Please, Thor in Asgard, please let her die.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

Bucky was gone.

He fell.

Bucky died and Steve Rogers died with him.

What remained was a shell, a broken marionette of a man left hollow. Duty and vengeance pulled the puppet strings, forced him forwards, each step taking him further from the train and that icy ravine where he wanted to lay down and die with his other half.

Captain America killed Johann Schmidt.

Steve Rogers flew the Valkyrie.

 

^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^

 

 

“Please don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out,” Peggy begged over the plane’s radio.

“Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy this is my choice.”

Agent Carter didn’t reply but Steve could hear her trying to muffle her tears. He had made her cry. That should have upset him but it didn’t. He felt nothing.

“Peggy,” he said. “I just got one favour to ask. I gotta know.”

“Anything,”

“Tell me about Lily Evergreen.”

The line was silent for so long that Steve wondered if the connection had been lost. Then someone, probably Phillips, gave a barely audible bark of confirmation and Peggy began to speak again slowly and firmly, her trademark resolution clear in every syllable.

“Special Agent Lily Evergreen. Intelligence, reconnaissance and infiltration. Veteran of seventy eight highly classified assignments. Known operation locations include the US, Britain, France, Norway, Poland and Germany. In April 1943 she was assigned as the lead agent of Project Perennial, deep covert work that sent her further inside than we could maintain regular contact. Her team destroyed more than a dozen top-secret HYDRA research facilities. Last known location was Salzburg, Austria. Last contact was September 1943. Special Agent Lily Evergreen has been declared MIA presumed killed in the line of duty.”

Steve’s ears were ringing with the speed of the plane’s descent but his heart rate was calm and his hands were steady on the controls. The empty puppet shell was numb. Bucky was dead. Their soulmate was dead. His wish, and Bucky’s, that she had somehow miraculously escaped the facility near Azzano, that someone in the upper ranks had seen her or spoken to her since, was dead.

“Peggy I need you to make some changes to her file.”

“What do you need, Steve?”

“Special Agent Li-,” his voice cracked and he faltered. But they had to know. Her death, her sacrifice for Bucky, for him, had to be recognised. Lily Evergreen died a hero and deserved to be remembered as one. After everything that she had done for them for so long, this was finally something he could do for her.

He tried again.

“Special Agent Lily Evergreen was seen by members of the 107th at a POW work camp near Azzano, Italy, November 1943. She… she orchestrated a prisoner substitution. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes for… for herself.”

“Captain Rogers,” Colonel Phillips interrupted the line. “Captain Rogers are you officially reporting that Agent Evergreen knowingly gave her life in exchange for Sergeant Barnes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you’re sure of this?”

“Without doubt, Sir.”

“Do you have any further information regarding Agent Evergreen?”

“Yes, Sir…” He took a breath. “Special Agent Lily Evergreen was the known matched and bonded soulmate of Captain Steven Grant Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve let that sink in. The white of the ice filled up the windscreen now.

Lily Evergreen. His soulmate. Dead.

Bucky Barnes. His other half. Dead.

“Oh Steve…” It was Peggy again.

“I’m going to have to take a raincheck on th- ,”

Steve Rogers.

Dead.

 

 

 

Fate, as always, had other plans.

 

 

 

 


End file.
